⚠️ sensitive content warning: mentions of substance. this is fictional and not intended to promote or encourage real-life use. proceed with caution.
it had been one of those days — everything felt heavy, like each minute at work had added a new brick to your back. by the time you stepped into the apartment, eyes tired, shoulders tense, jake already knew something was off. he didn’t say anything at first, just wrapped his arms around you from behind while you stood by the counter, barely holding yourself together.
the words slipped out quieter than you expected, almost hesitant. “can we… smoke? like actually smoke. with you.” you’d never tried it before, always watched him do it, his movements slow and familiar, the silence between puffs comfortable. but tonight, you didn’t want silence. you wanted to feel something different. or maybe, feel nothing at all, just for a bit.
jake pulled back slightly, brows lifting in mild surprise. not judgment, never judgment. just confusion and concern. “you sure?” his voice low, gentle. you nodded quietly. “today sucked. i just… i really need to slow down. can you… show me?”
he studied you for a second, searching for any sign of doubt, then cupped your jaw with one hand, thumb brushing your cheek. “okay,” he murmured, “let’s go to the balcony.”
the night air was cold, city lights stretching beneath you both. jake sat by the little table outside, pulling out his rolling tray with that same old calm. you leaned against the sliding door, silently watching as his fingers worked — grinding, tapping, smoothing. he kept glancing up at you every few movements, a small reassuring smile tugging at his lips.
“you don’t have to do this,” he said quietly. “we can just talk if you want.”
you shook your head, voice still tired. “i want to do it. with you.”
he nodded again, slower this time, accepting. when he finished, he held it up gently. “first one i ever roll for you,” he joked softly, hoping to lighten the air. it worked — you gave him the smallest smile.
you both sat side by side on the chilly floor, legs brushing. jake lit it, inhaled once, slowly, then exhaled away from you before passing it over carefully. “small hit, okay? don’t rush.”
your fingers shook slightly as you held it, the paper warm. you took a hesitant drag. the smoke felt strange, foreign, scratching at your throat. you let out a cough, eyes watering, and jake reacted instantly, hand on your back, softly rubbing circles.
“easy,” he whispered, half amused, half worried. you laughed between coughs, leaning into his shoulder.
you tried again, gentler this time. the warmth settled through you, not instant relief, but something close. you passed it back, watching him take another hit, the ember glowing in the dark.
minutes passed in quiet exchange — inhale, exhale, pass. your head slowly lightened, the knots in your chest loosening. you eventually rested your cheek against his arm, eyelids heavy.
“feeling better?” he asked, voice barely above a murmur.
“yeah,” you breathed. “thank you… for doing this with me.”
he placed the joint out, then shifted to pull you fully into his embrace, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head. “anytime,” he said, holding you as the city hummed below. “whenever the world feels too heavy, just come to me. i’ll roll it slower next time.”
you smiled, eyes closed, feeling the last of the weight finally lift. tonight wasn’t about escaping — it was about letting someone carry the weight with you. and jake did, quietly, honestly, just like he always does.