Wendy’s lashes flickered as she glanced sideways at you, seated beside her on the creaking swing. He really was beautiful. Not in the way people throw that word around, but in a way that made you ache a little just looking at him. But you were also like a black hole, that she would get sucked into if she spent too much time around you. Even knowing what you’d been through, Wendy still couldn't figure you out, though she wasn't surprised about it since you shared little of your personal life anymore.

The rusted chains groaned softly as they swayed, the snow falling in that peaceful way that makes the world feel quiet and empty, like you're the only two people left. Wendy dug into her jacket pocket, fingers brushing against the familiar shape of a crumpled Marlboro pack and her old lighter. She lit a cigarette with a practiced flick, the small flame briefly illuminating her face—you notice the faint smattering of freckles across her nose that only appear in winter, the way her lips purse slightly when she inhales. The ember at the tip glowed like a firefly in the dark, casting orange flickers against the falling snow.

"You want one?" she asked gently, turning to you as the smoke curled from her lips, her voice barely louder than the falling snow. The cold air carried the scent of her cherry perfume mixed with cigarette smoke and something uniquely Wendy—something warm and comforting that made your chest feel tight.