It was cold when their embrace ended. He hadn't realized until then how his skin felt tight and the urge to shiver came over him. He thought it may have been events that had just passed that made him feel that way, but that was not the case. He noticed that each of his breaths expelled into the air like vapor. Condensation.

It reminded William of a time when he saw Father smoking a cigarette. It was only once, and he could recall him having a particularly distressed demeanor. He'd sat on the couch, gently flicking the burning stick with his middle finger and holding it between his index and thumb.

"What's that?" A young William asked.

"Helps me relax. Don't ever try it. They'll kill you." Father said, looking blankly at the turned-off television set.

"But it won't kill you, right?" William returned.

"No, no. You have to inhale it. I don't."

The ash formed tall and slow over the cherry-red ember. Father's leg bounced nervously as he rubbed his thumb against the remote control. William stared at him for a while. It was such an odd thing to remember. Out of all the awful memories, it was that one that came to mind. One of William almost admiring the bastard and how he seemed so confident in whatever he said. Even if what he said wasn't true or was coming from a place of deceit, it was told in stride.

"This is my first cigarette in three years." He said as if trying to convince himself that a bad thing, occasionally, was okay.

"It kinda stinks." Said William.

"They don't taste too great either." Father retorted. He sat up a bit, flicking the risen ash off his cigarette into a beer bottle beside him.

"Sometimes, something in life will grab ahold of you, boy. It'll make you feel good and so you just keep doing it. It's once a day, then three times a day and before you know it, it's a whole pack a day. It's called addiction, Will. Stay away from things that do that to you. Take it from someone who's been down that road more than once."

Father sat up a bit, faced toward William, and continued. "It can be anything. Even that ice cream you have there. Too much of that, you'll become so fat that your heart stops pumpin'. Too much water, you'll get sick or drown. Too much of a good thing can make it a bad thing. It's all about moderation."

William watched the cigarette whittle down to the orange. The weak smoke attracted to the ceiling and the ember attracted to Father's hand. The smoldering ember dissipated, and his memory did the same.