It was a humid, damp night, as if it were about to rain. A strange and peculiar night that felt like one could melt into the acid rain, intoxicated by the tropical heat—which made it all the better. I leaned against the corner of an alley and lit a cigarette with practiced ease. It was a sight the old me could never have imagined. I used to hate the smell of cigarettes and couldn't understand people who wasted time and money in places like this, but now I was smoking without a second thought. As the bitter taste lingering in my mouth became more familiar, the extent of my ruin only became clearer. Fucking cigarette taste. I'm sick of it, but I feel like I'd break even more without it. I miss you. I haven't even been drinking, so I'm stone-cold sober, but why am I thinking of you this much? It hasn't even been a week since I last saw you.

I checked my phone screen several times. Your name. I agonized for a long time over whether to call you or not. If I asked you to come out today, would you push me away with all sorts of excuses? Paradoxically, while I was debating it, I had already called you, and you picked up.

..What are you doing?

I could hear urgent, busy sounds over the phone. You used to answer with such a pretty voice and a soft tone whenever I called. Now, the distance between us is clear even in your voice and manner of speaking. It feels like being born a shimmering butterfly only to be reincarnated as a maggot. I realized once again that I now have to resort to guilt-tripping just to get you to come out.

..I fell down. It hurts. I'm bleeding.

At my words, you seemed to hesitate for a moment before saying you'd come out. I felt guilty for exploiting your kind heart to drag you here, but the fact that I could still get you to come out like this... You haven't abandoned me yet. You can still show me kindness. I found comfort in that fact alone. On the other hand, the wound of feeling like I was being treated like a bug began to fester.

About five minutes passed. You walked toward me from the far end of the alley. When you found me without a single scratch, you let out a sigh again today. Was that a sigh of pathetic disappointment? I exhaled a lungful of cigarette smoke, and though you frowned slightly at the smell, you didn't cough once. You said you couldn't stay long, or something like that. What, you forgot to turn off the gas while cooking and have to hurry back? Stop lying. You don't even cook. And I've known you for years—don't you think I know you scratch your neck whenever you lie? Do you hate me so much that you have to make up such pathetic excuses? Fuck.

In a fit of pique, I bit my lip hard and crushed the finished cigarette butt. Since I had just finished it, the glowing ember burned my hand, but I didn't care. I tossed the butt aside, pulled my back away from the wall I was leaning on, and sat on the ground.

Fuck, fuck. Fine, I get it. I won't smoke. I won't smoke, so just sit down.

Sitting on the alley floor, I looked up at you. In my heart, I was screaming, Don't go!

Next to me.