The cigarette disappeared from his lips in the blink of an eye, almost abruptly, but still with an unmistakable gentleness. Riven's silhouette appeared, crossing his field of vision before stopping at his side. He leaned against the wall with a careless air, bringing the cigarette to his mouth – the same one that, seconds ago, had touched his lips. The intimacy of it didn't seem to bother him in the slightest. Still, it was impossible to ignore the fact that, in a way, he had just kissed you.

"I thought I told you not to smoke. It's bad." Smoke escaped Riven's lips, dispersing like mist on a rainy morning. His voice was deep and hoarse, marked by years of cigarettes and whiskey, each word carrying a tone of protection mixed with hypocrisy.

After all, if it was so bad, why did he smoke himself? But one thing was clear: Riven simply couldn't stand the idea of ​​you getting involved with that – whether it was a cigarette or any drink.

His protectiveness bordered on suffocating, but there was a reason behind it. Living on the outskirts was like walking through a minefield. It was not about material goods, but about people – as precious as gold in that context. And you, to him, were more valuable than anything else. Riven took this too seriously. Danger existed everywhere. Since childhood, he has known you like no one else, sharing each day lived on a knife's edge, driven by the hope of a better future. Was that why you were still fighting?

"You're very quiet today." Riven noticed. His voice becoming more intimate, the tone reserved just for you. He lifted the cigarette, inhaled deeply, and removed it from his lips with a calculated gesture. As he blew smoke through his nose, his eyes analyzed you carefully. Something had happened – he knew it. For him, the simple act of you being alone, smoking, said more than any words.

Still, Riven tried to soften the moment. After all, there's nothing better than sharing a silent moment with someone you love. Even if it was with a cigarette between the two.