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The thumping music and laughter at your back felt like thousands of needles piercing your hearing. Inside, everyone looked so radiant, celebrating something you could no longer comprehend. And you? You felt empty. Defeated.
You ran through the crowd, ignoring unheard greetings, until your fingers brushed against the cold glass handle of the balcony door. You stepped out and shut it tight, sealing the noise behind the glass.
The biting night wind immediately stung your skin, but it was nothing compared to the constriction in your chest. However, you weren't alone.
In the dim corner of the balcony, a man stood leaning against the iron railing. His black suit looked impeccable, contrasting with the dark strands of his hair that were slightly disheveled by the wind. Between his fingers, a lit cigarette glowed, its smoke dancing briefly before being swallowed by the night. He remained silent, his back to you, as if he were a part of the darkness itself.
You paid him no mind. You walked toward the railing on the other side, staring far below.
The fifth floor.
You swallowed hard, measuring the distance between your feet and the concrete down there. If you jumped now, would it all end instantly? Or would you have to endure excruciating pain as your bones shattered before your life finally faded away? That fear clashed with your utter weariness of living.
"Five floors aren't enough to kill you instantly."
The voice was low, cold, and unnervingly calm. You flinched, turning toward the mysterious man. He still wasn't looking at you; his sharp eyes remained fixed on the city skyline.
"You'll only end up with a broken body, disabled for life, and a pain far worse than anything you're feeling right now," he continued flatly. He took a slow drag of his cigarette, then exhaled. "You don't have the guts to actually do it. Your eyes... they're far too full of doubt."
You bit your lower lip, and the tears you had been holding back finally fell. "Then what should I do?" your voice trembled, barely a whisper. "I don't want to go back inside. I don't want to live like this anymore. I have no one to lean on... no home to return to. Everything is gone."
The man turned his body slightly, glancing at you with a bored yet piercing gaze. "I don't care about your life story. Your whining only makes my ears ache."
He paused for a moment, stubbing out the remains of his cigarette against the iron railing, then asked, "Have you ever smoked?"
You blinked, startled by the abrupt change in topic. "I haven't... never."
"If you truly intend to die, at least try this first. Consider it a foolish ritual before you actually jump." He reached into his suit pocket, pulled out a fresh cigarette, and held it out to you.
Your hand shook as you took it. He flicked his lighter, bringing the flame to the tip of your cigarette. You inhaled hesitantly, immediately coughing from the harsh, bitter heat that scorched your throat.
The man merely let out a soft grunt and lit another cigarette for himself.
For the next ten minutes, no words were exchanged. The two of you stood side by side under the thick night sky, accompanied only by the sound of the wind and wisps of smoke. Strangely, the bitterness on your tongue gradually distracted you from the constriction in your chest. Your focus shifted to your breathing so you wouldn't cough, and somehow, the world felt a little slower.
Once your cigarette was finished, you remained still, staring at the blackened tip.
"What else?" he asked suddenly.
"Huh?"
"What else haven't you done in that boring life of yours?" He was looking at you fully now. His dark eyes seemed to glint under the moonlight.
You fell silent, trying to think. All this time, you had lived as the "good child." You always followed the rules, feared taking risks, and were too cowardly to try new things for fear of failure or judgment. "A lot of things," you whispered honestly. "I... I was always too afraid to try anything."
The man took a step forward, closing the distance between you. The atmosphere on the balcony suddenly grew heavy, more intense.
"Have you ever been kissed?"
Your heart seemed to skip a beat. Your face flushed instantly. "No."
The corner of his lip quirked up slightly—a thin smirk that looked dangerous, yet inexplicably... alluring. "Want to try?"
You froze. Your brain screamed that this was insane. He was a stranger. You didn't even know each other's names. But at the same time, there was something about his presence that made you feel... noticed. Not with a demeaning pity, but in a way that was honest and raw.
"Why?" you asked nervously. "You don't even know me."
He watched you with the gaze of a predator who had found something intriguing to observe. "I hate crowds, and I hate weak creatures who do nothing but cry. But I hate people who throw their lives away before knowing what it feels like to truly live even more."
You looked into his sharp eyes, searching for some kind of certainty. "What is your name?"
He leaned his face closer, his breath—faintly scented with tobacco—brushing against your cheek.
"Hibari Kyoya."
The distance between you eroded slowly. You could feel the heat radiating from his body, a stark contrast to the cold night wind. Your eyes were locked onto his dark irises, which seemed to capture your entire consciousness.
You knew what was about to happen. Your brain signaled you to pull away, yet your body refused to move. Hibari didn't touch you. He didn't hold your chin or pull you by the waist; he simply leaned in with a movement so precise and full of authority. It was as if an invisible magnetic field forced you to keep looking at him, leaving you powerless under his dominance.
Then, it happened.
The contact was brief and soft, yet it felt like a jolt of electricity racing from your lips to every nerve ending. The masculine scent of tobacco and the chill of the night air merged into a sensation unlike anything you had ever felt.
It lasted only a few seconds, but it was enough to shatter the walls of despair you had built.
As he pulled back, you let out a shallow breath. The world that had seemed gray and lifeless moments ago suddenly regained its sharp colors. Your heartbeat, once weak, was now racing wildly, pumping blood that felt hot in your veins. The urge to die... suddenly evaporated, replaced by an overwhelming realization that you were still alive. And you wanted to keep feeling it.
Hibari remained very close. He watched your reaction with an unreadable expression—slightly softer than before, yet still razor-sharp.
"What is your name?" he asked lowly.
His voice no longer sounded like a threat; it sounded like a claim. As if with that one kiss, he had marked your existence in his silent world.
"My name is..."