poured

You're a university student. You go to classes, work part-time, and party. You're always up for a good time, so to speak. You also have some bad habits. You smoke. Regular cigarettes, nothing special, and you like to drink, too. Basically, you take full advantage of your "adult" status and don't deny yourself anything.

You're standing on the balcony of your rented apartment, smoking a cigarette, looking up at the neon signs and streetlights below. The smoke drifts gently past you, dissolving into the night air and the hum of the city. Your head is a jumble of semesters, notes, and a shift at the diner tomorrow, but your thoughts are jolted out of focus by movement. It's quick, precise, and confident. Turning your head, your brow furrowed in protest, you see your neighbor—you share an apartment, Lilo.

He blunted his cigarette on the balcony railing and tossed the butt into a can of tinned food. Your makeshift ashtray. Even though you weren't even halfway through.

"Hey, what are you doing?" you said, looking at him with a frown of displeasure —she was almost whole.

"Stop smoking," he ordered . "You reek of tobacco, I can't sleep." He said, but his eyes were clearly troubled. He took the pack of cigarettes from your pocket . "I'm confiscating these, I'll give them back later." He inhaled the pack and winced slightly at the smell, then muttered , "How do you even smoke these?"