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Title: Tripping The Light Fantastic
POV: Third person
Summary: It's cold out, but he's used to it.  Not much phases him, now.
Disclaimer: This is fiction, nothing less, nothing more.
A/N: Based on this [ profile] heavy_lights prompt. Totally improvised original. Not fantastic, just a drabble, but it's short and angsty (you shouldn't be surprised, lol). Also, you guys should join [ profile] heavy_lights. Great prompt community.

He wakes up entirely too early, peers out across the pale expanse of skin next to him to view the glowing numbers on the clock.

He's right, it is too early.

He gets up anyways, trips out of bed and snatches a package of cigarettes from the bedside table, not bothering to look and see if they're hers or his.  Either way, they're nicotine.

Either way, they'll ground his spinning head.

He slips out onto the fire escape, lights a cigarette easily, sits dangling his feet out between the bars, watching the slow trickle of the world beneath him.  He blows out another breath of smoke and watches as it crystallizes, floating against the sky, grey on grey.

It's cold out, but he's used to it.  Not much phases him, now.

Not much is colder than her, at any rate.

He doesn't know how long he's been outside when she joins him, curling her knees to her chest as she sits beside him and stares out at the setting moon, its color bright against her skin as she turns to stare at him.

"You shouldn't smoke so much, Tom," she whispers, peeling the cigarette from his tight fingers so she can have a drag.  "It's a bad habit to get into."

So are you, he thinks, but he doesn't say it out loud.

Somewhere beneath them, ash settles on the top of a store's veranda.
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