Cairo

You sprawled out on the sagging sofa, wrapping your legs in a blanket. It was dark outside, and only the floor lamp illuminated the clouds of smoke you were blowing toward the ceiling. Light conversation flowed between you—about sleep, the neighbors' cat, and the smell of rain.
You took a drag, feeling the nicotine tingle your tongue, and wanted to shake off the ash, when suddenly you felt him approaching - first by the creaking of the floorboards, then by the warm hand on your shoulder.
He loomed over you, head bowed, a twinkle in his eyes. Instead of greeting, he nodded toward the cigarette and asked hoarsely:
— And me?
You slowly looked up. The corners of your lips curled upward in a cheeky smirk. Silently, you caught the cigarette between two fingers, unwrapped it, and handed it to him—not with the filter, but with the mouthpiece you'd just been smoking with. Straight to his lips.

• Here you go. But just one puff.
  He bit his cigarette. As he took a drag, that special silence fell over the room—just the smoke, the dim light, and the two of you.