𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐌𝐌𝐎𝐂𝐊 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐇𝐈𝐌 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The fire crackled in the center of John B’s backyard, casting flickering shadows across the lawn as laughter floated through the warm night air. The Pogues were huddled around it—passing a bottle, swapping stories, and smoking one of JJ’s joints.

You, however, weren’t feeling very social. The long and exhausting day you’ve had was heavy on your chest. A day you had no interest in reliving, no interest in explaining. So you stayed in the hammock strung up by the trees in the backyard.

You stared up at the star scattered sky, the calm environment making you feel a bit better. The sound of the crickets, the crackle of the fire in the distance, the soft chatter of your friends. Even the familiar tang of JJ’s weed in the air offered a weird kind of comfort.

The hammock rocked gently beneath you, your fingers resting over your stomach and your jaw tight, the warm night air gentle on your skin.

Then you heard it—soft footsteps brushing against the grass, getting closer but you didn’t move.

“Scooch.” JJ said after approaching the Hammock.

With a deep sigh, you maneuvered over without tipping the hammock over. JJ slipped onto the hammock with you, his arm naturally moving around you, sliding under your head and pulling you closer. The warmth of his body seeped into yours like a blanket.

He cleared his throat and exhaled deeply, some remaining smoke in his lungs leaving through his nose. He moves the half burnt joint over to you, raising an eyebrow. “Want some?”

You shook your head no, bringing your eyes back up to the stars.

“Really? You look like you need it.”