the characters are fictitious and existed only during one cigarrette late at night.

They were talking, discussing their problems.
She is going to hug him and he does not know what to do. After a moment of hesitation he leans forward and hugs her, but this time as if it was the first and last time he was going to have her in his arms.
His eyes were red; just red.
“What do we do then?” she asked.
“I do not know, I cannot decide right now” He looked over his shoulder like looking for something; like trying to escape. As a continuation of the same movement, sliding his hands down her arms, he stops hugging her, and looking down he squeezes her hands; she squeezes back. “Sorry, I cannot” he said, still keeping his eyes away from hers.
Vehemently remorseful for having to put him in that situation she exclaims: “we have to decide!”
“Ok!” acknowledging the inevitability of the decision time that was to come. He steps away, opens his jacket and takes out a cigarette. Once again he looks down; this time he lights the cigarette, puffs, and exhales as if the smoke was the condensed steam that comes out of a melting pot of emotions.
He feels selfish, letting her go is not what he wants, but in the other hand he could not neglect the opportunities that were presented in front of him. He thought of taking what was assured; after all he was very young. She was young too and she was there for him, in some way assured as well. What to do if one cannot let go of any of the options?
Despaired to finish this conversation before his impotence to take a decision he said; “I do not want to decide. I cannot decide when both of the options take away such a big part of me; they both hurt. Please, give me some more time.”
“I know, but as it is right now I cannot take it anymore. We have to take responsibility over what we really want. I have already decided to stay here so now it is up to you to decide.” She rushes to say almost about to break into tears.
He puts his hand in his pocket and nervously he moves it like looking for something that will give him the answer. In his face one can still see the disillusion before the situation he finds himself in. While looking at her, not focused on her eyes, he stops moving his hand; he grabs something.
Holding very tight what he has on his pocket he seems ready to answer. “Fine, I’ll go then.” Stepping forward, like wanting to hug her, he starts looking up. It is the onset of the departure, and for the first time in the night, when he turns back to leave the place, their eyes crossed each others on a look that lasted only fractions of a second, but that was worth more than all the words wasted. She understood that the situation put them in conflict and that love does not cure all problems. Her eyes once moist were now in tears.
She got her answer and he left with his hand still in the pocket. “What am I doing? I cannot leave her like this” he says to himself while rushing out of the place.
“Ok…” he says, and stops in a dark corner. Carefully pulls his trembling hand out of the pocket, once out, the hand shows a plastic bag with a suspicious content; he rolls a cigarette. “Fuck it!” he affirms with determination. He puffs a couple of times, then coughs a bit and holds his head.
“What now?” he says complaining to himself while staring into the night’s darkness. His hand rising up again; he puffs.
His eyes were red; just red.

why?

Every night, before Gravity works its magic, around midnight, I go down three floors and open the heavy wooden door facing the Greek Theatre. It's cold! It's warm! I put my hand in my pocket (pair of old jeans, new jacket, or a demode shirt), as I move it around my fingertips make sense of a plastic/metal lighter. My other hand had far before anticipated the craving mind and was already holding its prize, moving it between fingers, flicking it into the unpolluted air, to lastly direct and posit it into my hard tempered lips.