oliver hadn't been opposed to the idea of getting high with you. he'd had a lot on his mind recently; between his company, his family and his responsibilities as the green arrow the fuzz of a couple hits sounded like a need rather than a want. a rarity. he usually found comfort in a glass of fine liquor, but that hadn't been doing the trick lately either.

just a couple puffs off the end of the joint you offered. not even enough to get him stoned, just enough to take the sharp edge off his mood.

little did oliver know, whatever the hell you packed into that thing was strong. it made his whole estate stink, his eyes red and tired. it definitely did it's job, though. he felt so much more relaxed, half melted onto the sofa beside you whilst smacking his lips.

he needed something to drink. maybe a mint, or ten. his tongue felt dry and heavy, his cheeks packed with cotton and lips chapped. he should get up— snag himself some water and see if you were suddenly as hungry as he was.

but he was so comfortable. god, why didn't he do this more often?