The door creaked open and slammed shut, and when Levi turned, there she was, strawberry blonde hair twisted into a bun, eyes shining in the moonlight.

"Petra."

He'd been on the balcony, away from the ridiculous military gala, having himself a smoke when she'd walked out onto the stone deck. She halted when he called her name, and Levi turned away from her, looking out over the city lights.

In the back of his mind he wondered if she was going to turn and run back into the ballroom, but she walked forward and joined him by the railing.

"Captain."

She was in her military blues, in those pants and blouse that rarely ever saw the time of day and looked so unnatural on her compared with the Legion uniform. Briefly, he pitied that the Scouting Legion couldn't afford the fabric to issue military gowns for these events.

"Smoke?"

She eyed him for a minute, and Levi thought that she looked great, the light coming out of the doorway and framing her face, the three fourths view making him think of all those overdone portraits from Wall Sina. She was much more simple, much more beautiful. He kept that to himself.

Levi raised one brow, subtle and judgmental.

"Socially."

"Oh?" And he knew that his tone bothered her because she reached out and snagged the presented cigarette from his hand, not letting him tuck it back into the case.

He handed her his matchbook rather than lighting her cigarette for her and pretended not to watch as she took the first drag, the spark and burn of the tobacco leaving an orange glow on her face.

She grimaced a little on the inhale but didn't cough, shooting the smoke out to the side, never letting her manners slip.

They didn't talk, and he didn't offer her his jacket when the autumnal breeze made her shoulders shiver.

"You should go inside if you're cold."

"I'm fine." The smoke curled around her in a light halo. She let out a little puff through the side of her lips before turning her head to look at him.

"I didn't know you smoked."

"There are some things I like to keep to myself."

She turned her head again, the city lights turning her into a pale vision and Levi had to remember that being mean didn't get anyone anything.

"Let's leave. This is the shittiest party I've ever had to suffer through."

She smiled and threw the cigarette over the railing.

He stood by the window of his room, half dressed in his boots and trousers, blowing smoke out into the hot summer morning, his eyes squinting against the sun. His sheets rustled behind him and he heard a small moan. The bed creaked.

"Are you smoking right now?"

He didn't acknowledge the question, and light footfalls padded their way over to his side.

When he looked over, Petra was patterned with love bites and wearing his shirt, her hair loose and messy. Her lids were still heavy and her cheeks were pink from the heat. No matter how many times she awoke like this, he couldn't grow accustomed to it. He swallowed tightly before procuring a cigarette and offering it to her.

"Not in the mood for one?" He stubbed his out with the toe of his boot, frowning at the black soot spot it left on the hardwood.

He looked up when she did not take the cigarette from his hand.

"It's pretty disgusting, actually." Her nose was wrinkled.

And he felt petulant - she always made him feel too young - so he kissed her fully, letting her taste the ash and smoke on his tongue, and she did not pull away.

He'd quit some time afterwards, hadn't smoked in several months when she died.

But now, whenever he felt her ghost curling around his shoulders or brushing against his ear, or standing just outside his door, he'd get up from bed and reach for his cigarettes. She would chase him out into the hallway or the balcony, or sit next to him on the bed, fingers tracing over his mouth just as he brought a cigarette to his lips.

The cigarettes burned his throat now, left him thirsty, because it's been so long since he's last smoked, but he made himself finish them. His own little self flagellation.

He couldn't even explain to himself why he practiced this ritual. Perhaps to distract himself. Maybe to remember that smoke they'd shared on the balcony. Maybe to remember how her mouth tasted in the middle of love making when he kissed her.

But honestly, he hoped the smoke would fill the room and her ghost would choke on it. He hoped her spirit wouldn't be able to stand the stink and her stomach would turn in revulsion. He wanted her to cough and dissipate and leave him alone. It was the only way he could sleep through the night.

He took the last drag and squashed the filter against the floor, not minding the sting on his skin.

He did it now because he wanted her to go away.