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Summary
Ze hums an affirmative, placing the cigarette in his mouth, nimble fingers caressing the lighter and gliding over the spark wheel. It crackles but doesn't ignite.
"Fuck dude," Ze curses, "Regect, I need to borrow your hands."
The entity wants to say /fuck no, that's gross/ or tell him smoking isn't good for you but all that comes out is a pathetic attempt at avoiding his plea.
*My hands are wet.*
or
Ze finds Regect standing in the rain in the middle of the night and neither can help themselves.