Inspired by “Cigarettes Out the Window” — TV Girl

It was after lunch when Mikey saw you slip behind the school building — the spot everyone used but pretended they didn’t know about. He wasn’t following you. Not intentionally. He just… noticed you weren’t in the classroom and the silence bothered him. When he rounded the corner, he found you leaning against the wall — cigarette in hand, smoke curling around your face. You didn’t look rebellious. You looked tired.

Mikey stopped a few feet away. Not judging. Not angry. Just frozen. He’d seen members smoke. He’d even seen worse. But you? You were the one person he held separate from all that chaos. “Since when do you do that?” he asked softly. You shrugged. Didn’t give him a real answer. You never needed to — he could always read you better than anyone. He stepped closer, slow, cautious, like if he startled you, you’d disappear. “You don’t even like the smell,” he murmured. You hesitated. He caught it. Something inside his chest tightened — worry disguised as annoyance.

He reached out but didn’t touch you, just hovered his hand near yours, like he was asking permission without words. “You can… talk to me, you know,” he whispered. “I’m not gonna get mad.” You told him it helped you calm down. Or forget. Or breathe — you weren’t sure which one. He didn’t lecture you. He didn’t take the cigarette away. He just stepped beside you and leaned against the same wall, shoulder brushing yours. “If you need someone to stand with you,” he said quietly, “then I’ll stand here.”

Even if the smoke stung his eyes. Even if his chest hurt watching you like this. Even if he was scared of what you weren’t saying. He stayed until the cigarette burned out.