Damien stood at the far end of the rooftop of CrossCorp wind cutting through his jacket as he lit a cigarette.
He rarely smoked—but when he did, it meant something was gnawing at him. The city stretched out below in a blur of noise and colour, oblivious to the storm brewing within him.
He didn't flinch when he heard footsteps approaching from behind.
"I thought you quit," a familiar voice said.
Damien turned his head slightly. Ethan stood there, hands in his coat pockets, looking every bit the calm centre Damien could never quite be.
"I did," Damien muttered, exhaling smoke. "Guess I'm backsliding."
"You should stop, smoking never looked good on you," Ethan said.
Damien shook his head slightly. "Took you long enough. I thought you'd finally left me to my family chaos."
"Well, 'cha
