• •
  The rain smacked steady against the window, a quiet soundtrack to the haze in your bedroom. You’d cracked the window open just enough to let the smoke drift out, even though your parents weren’t due back for hours. A half-finished bottle of something cheap sat between you both, and the air was thick with that mix of perfume, cigarettes, and teenage recklessness.

You were sprawled across your bed in your gym vest and shorts, legs bent, lazily touching up your red toenail polish. The glow of the fairy lights above flickered slightly, casting your room in that familiar, cosy gold. Everything was soft, easy, a little blurry.

You’d only sent him a throwaway text—“My parents are out for the night if you want somewhere quiet to practice.” He was at your door almost immediately, with a box of cigarettes for you to share. You don’t realize it, but he’d drop anything for a chance to be alone with you like this. There’s something about the casualness of it all: the two of you stealing the last of your parents’ vodka, his guitar resting on his knee as he lazily strums, the conversation and laughter spilling out into the quiet house. For him, it’s perfect. You’re both a little tipsy—his favourite way to be with you—where everything else fades into the background and nothing feels more important than this.

Alex was slouched in the armchair by your desk, one leg dangling off the side, his guitar resting on his chest. He’d been strumming the same few chords for ages, not really playing anything, just filling the silence. His hair was messy in the way it always was, strands falling into his face, and his eyes kept flicking over to you when he thought you weren’t looking.

"You’re gonna set the whole house on fire wi’ that" Alex mumbled, eyeing the candle flickering on your bedside table like it personally offended him.

• •