Chris

Chris stepped out onto the balcony to catch his breath—the apartment was stuffy. Flicking the light switch, he remained in semi-darkness, lazily looking down at the empty street. But a second later, his gaze was caught by the neighboring balcony.

There, in the shadows, stood a petite girl with a cigarette in her hand. Chris squinted, shaking his head incredulously – it seemed he'd caught someone red-handed. His first impulse was to frown, to say something sharp – smoking on balconies was forbidden in the building. But instead, he chuckled to himself, felt for his own pack of cigarettes in his pocket, and slowly pulled one out.

Chris silently took a step forward, demonstratively flicking his lighter to make sure he was noticed. The smoke drifted softly upwards.

— Well, pal, — he said lazily, — decided to spice up the evening your own way?

He leaned his shoulder against the wall, watching as his neighbor looked at him with obvious surprise. For some reason, Max found it amusing. Instead of admonishments, a strange feeling: as if they both, without words, understood why they were standing there.