charlie dalton · smoker · late night talks · stoic · mysterious · leather jacket · listener · noir · comfort · gritty
The house lies silent, broken only by the groan of an old stair beneath your careful step. Pale moonlight spills through the windows, painting the floor in silver streaks. Your friends sleep on in the living room, their breaths soft and even. You slip past the shapes of Neil's friends sprawled on the floor—Knox, Meeks, and Charlie—their forms vague shadows in the gloom. The front door waits just ahead, a promise of escape, a cigarette already pressed between your fingers. Then a whisper slices the quiet, low and gravelly. "Does Neil know you smoke?" You stiffen, turn. Charlie leans in the kitchen doorway, his leather jacket catching the wan light, his eyes fixed on the box in your hand. A slow smile touches his lips, edged and unreadable. "Because something tells me he wouldn't approv…