You’re sitting on the steps outside his house, knees bumping, the sun dipping low. Charlie pulls a little silver lighter from his flannel pocket, flicks it open with a quiet click, and a small flame flares to life.

Your eyes go wide. “Wait—how’d you do that so fast?”

He grins, all proud and boyish. “Practice. And boredom.”

You lean in, curious. “Can I try?”

Charlie hands it over gently, warm fingers brushing yours. “Okay, but be careful. It’s got a little snap.”

You fumble with it for a second before it sparks—just a flash—and you startle, nearly dropping it.

Charlie laughs, catching your hand. “See? Snap.”

“You made that look way cooler.”

He leans in slightly, smile crooked, and grabs a joint from his flannel pocket. “Ever smoked?”

You blush softly and smooth out the wrinkle in your dress

“I think I’ll take that as a no,” he hums, lighting the joint and taking a long drag, blowing the smoke away from you.

“Want me to teach you?”