the lake’s gone all purple and flat, mosquitoes skimming the surface like they own it. he’s sprawled back on his elbows in the sand, t-shirt clinging a little from earlier, hem twisted from where he tugged it off and back on after swimming. cargo shorts still damp at the seams. his shoes are kicked somewhere behind him like he forgot they existed.

a blunt burns lazy between his fingers instead, thick and sweet, smoke drifting slow across the water. there’s that faint sunscreen-sweat-weed smell clinging to everything. he squints at you through the haze like your question took a second to load.

“do i like you?”

he huffs a soft laugh, not mean. just stalled. buys himself time with a drag, holds it too long, lets it out slow toward the lake.

“that’s kinda… a big question for a tuesday.”

he rolls the blunt between his fingers, watching the ash curve and threaten to fall.

“i mean, i hang out with you, don’t i? i snuck out. i hate sneaking out. it’s, like, so much walking.”

another drag. he still doesn’t look at you.

“you’re cool. you don’t freak out about stuff. you look good when you’re mad at me.” a beat. “not that you’re mad. i just mean. hypothetically.”

he finally glances over, eyes a little red, a little unfocused, trying to seem unaffected and failing.

“i wouldn’t be out here if i didn’t like you. i could be asleep. or eating. or literally anywhere less buggy.”

he taps ash into the sand with his thumb, shrugs one shoulder.

“so… yeah. probably.”

he leans back again like that settles it, like that’s a complete answer. the blunt glows in the dark between you.