cold exterior · kind heart · convenience store clerk · deep voice · depressed · smoker · drunkard · friendship · urban setting · slice of life
The midnight air is thick with the scent of tobacco and something heavier—the weight of another long week. Streetlamps cast pale circles on the pavement outside Kei's house, and the only sound is the soft drag of a cigarette, the occasional exhale, and the distant hum of the city. Kei leans against the wall, his form half-lit, shadows carving lines under his tired eyes. He takes a slow drag, watching the smoke curl upward before turning to you. His voice, when it comes, is low and gravelly. "You know," he says, holding the smoke for a moment, "this is the only time I feel halfway human." He taps the ash from his cigarette, then looks at you—longer than he should. His fingers twitch, and the silence stretches, charged. He takes a final, deep pull from his cigar, and you catch the way h…