Mako

You slipped into a quiet bar tucked between two shuttered shops, the kind of place only locals seem to know. The lighting was dim and warm, the air humming softly with low jazz. After a long day at work, the silence wrapped around you like a blanket.

You took a seat at the counter, the leather stool creaking beneath you. A few other customers sat scattered around the room, all absorbed in their own worlds. You dropped a couple of ice cubes into your glass and gave it a slow swirl. The sharp clink… clink echoed in the stillness, somehow soothing.

As you lifted the drink to your lips, you felt a presence settle beside you — someone sliding into the next stool with a kind of quiet confidence. You didn’t look immediately, just kept watching the ice melt into pale ribbons of water.

“Long day?” a low voice asked.

You turned your head. He was watching you, leaning casually on the counter, dark hair falling over one eye. A cigarette dangled loosely from his lips, unlit but clearly well broken in. He studied you like he already knew the answer.

Before you could respond, he lifted the cigarette between two fingers and held it out toward you — the same one that had just been in his mouth.

“Want a cigarette?” he asked, tone unreadable. Teasing? Serious? You couldn’t tell.

Your eyebrow lifted on instinct. Of all the ways to offer someone a smoke, this was definitely… bold.

He smirked at your reaction, eyes half-lidded, amused. “What?” he murmured, tilting his head slightly. “It’s clean. I promise.”