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"That's a nasty habit, there. It's gonna burn you in the long run, you know?"
Jon glanced up through the haze of the smoke, feeling a sharp spark of irritation rise in his chest at the judgment in the stranger's voice.
"Yes, well, if you don't like it, then there are several other places you could go." He said curtly.
The man huffed out a chuckle and leaned up against the alley wall, kicking the tips of his trainers up onto the grimy bricks.
"Got a light?"
"Yes– er, what?" Jon snapped his gaze abruptly back to the man, and the smirk fixed on his face. "I thought– You just said that it's disgusting."
The man chuckled again, his voice smooth and low. "I did. Still doesn't mean I don't partake sometimes."
"That– that's." Jon stuttered. "You're–"
"My name's Tim Stoker if that helps."
He flashed a wide grin, his teeth shiny against his tanned skin, and held out an expectant palm.
"Are you sure?"
"Well, last time I checked I'm still Timothy Stoker."
"No– not about that." Jon huffed out an irritated sigh, and took in a drag from his still smoldering cigarette. "About the lighter."
"Yeah, I'm sure." The man, Tim, nodded, wiggling the fingers on his outreached hand. "Just need a quick light, I left mine at home."
Jon frowned, but dug around in his pocket until he produced the web scored lighter.
After only a second of awkward hesitation, he dropped into Tim's palm.
"Thanks." Tim grinned, and ducked his head into another jaunty nod.
He reached into his own pocket and withdrew a crumpled carton of Lucky Strikes, sliding one out of the package and flicking the light onto the tip in one smooth motion.
He drew in a massive drag, and sighed it out on the exhale.
"Thanks–"
"Jon, Jonathan Sims." Jon said stiffly, watching the man draw in another inhale, and then exhale in wisps of curling smoke.
"Nice to meet you, Jon." Tim smirked again. "And thanks for the light, always a pain when you forget."
"Yes, well, it– it is." Jon muttered awkwardly.
There was a moment of stagnant silence, hazed over only by the wisps of smoke hovering in the air.
"Why do you smoke if you consider it such a nasty habit?" Jon couldn't help but blurt out in the sudden quiet. Unable to keep himself from probing against the angles of this man, who seemed to be for all intents and purposes a walking contradiction.
Tim laughed again, deep and reverberating in the cramped alley.
"You think it's a treat?"
"Not exactly." Jon said, a remnant of the spark of annoyance burning just a bit in his chest.
"No one does it for a good reason." Tim said, far quieter and with an edge that almost prickled in the suddenly tense air.
Jon nodded hastily, dropping the matter, and drew in a final inhale, flicking the ash off the paper as the burn finally reached the barrier of the filter.
He quickly snubbed out the last flickers of heat and dropped it into the bin that the Institute claimed was for litter, but in reality, served as a hotspot for all those who smoked.
"It was– nice to meet you, Tim." He said awkwardly, daring another glance at the man's smirk that was shrouded by the haze of smoke curling from his lips. "I hope we see each other again in the future."
"Nice to meet you too, Jon." Tim tilted his head in a nod. "I'm sure I'll see you 'round."
Jon nodded hastily back, striding out of the alley without glancing back, and forgetting entirely that Tim still held the webbed lighter in his possession.