the morning after
05일 09월 2017년

he breathes in and breathes out, moving the cigarette and watching the smoke dissipate into the air.

'you know,' she says, voice still touched by sleep and their night together, 'you're going to kill yourself with those things.'

he rests his arm on his knee, leaning back so that the corner of the window sill presses against his . 

he shrugs. 

'anyways,' she continues, giving him another look but accepting his wish to not talk about it, 'i don't know if i should be touched or appalled.'

he raises a brow. 

'what do you mean?' he asks, taking another drag. she rolls over onto her stomach, facing him with a hand under her chin and sheets twisted around her skin. 

'i heard from a certain songbird that you didn't eat yesterday,' she hums, eyeing the death stick between his fingers. 'meanwhile, as soon as you come here, you come to bed with me rather than the kitchen. does that mean i'm higher on the priority list than food?'

'doll, you're the highest,' he drawls, flashing her a smirk. 

she chuckles, her laughter filling the air more potently than the stench of his cigarette and gone just as quickly. 

'i don't know if is needed more than food,' she states, quirking a brow in his direction. 

he shrugs again, turning to the drug instead of the question.

she sighs, the breath too gentle to signal anger; annoyance, he deduces.

'i'm cooking breakfast,' she informs, standing up lithely. 'you're eating it.'

he casts an appreciative glance over her, and she throws him a warning look. 

'needs before wants,' she declares, picking up his shirt from the floor and slipping it on. 

he watches her.

'you're a need,' he complains, tapping the end of his cigar into a nearby ash tray. she raises a hand in vague acknowledgement, heading to the kitchen. 

he turns his eyes out the window, watching the city come to life. 

when the cigarette is nothing more than ash, he puts out the and follows her into the kitchen, stomach stirring at the scent of her creations.