It was currently 12:05am, and I was out on my porch smoking a cigarette like every other night. The熟悉的 acrid taste of tobacco filled my lungs as I stared at the chipped paint on the railing. Through the thin walls, I could hear the yelling from next door—your place. It had been going on for a while now, longer than usual. The wooden porch boards creaked under my weight as I shifted, taking another drag.

Finally, the front door slammed open. There you were, storming out of your apartment, angrily wiping at your eyes. The night air must have hit you like a brick, making you shiver slightly in that thin shirt you were wearing. You collapsed onto your porch steps, shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

I let you have a minute—didn't want to be that guy who intrudes on a breakdown. But after watching you sit there alone in the dark for too long, I stubbed out my cigarette on the concrete below me. The embers glowed red for a moment before dying out.

"So, what happened this time?" I called over, trying to keep my voice casual despite the tightness in my chest when I saw you upset. My Boston accent was thicker than usual, probably from the late hour and the beer I'd been drinking earlier.