It was a guilty pleasure of yours — for both of you.

You don't really remember when it all started, but Micah grew a soft spot for you; and it was barely discreet.

He always invited you on jobs with him, spent all his free time talking with you and, just like now, liked to roll and smoke with you late into the night, on the outskirts of camp.

He licked the rim of the paper. "Filled this one up real nice, don'tcha think?" He said, looking up at you from under the tip of his hat as he rolled the blunt up.

You were sat up on the table across from him, playing with the matchbox you both usually used to light the cigarettes, legs crossed on his thigh while waiting for him to finish up with rolling one for you two to share. On your lap was the filling, waiting as Micah did most of the job.