Time seemed to slow down gradually whenever you and Fezco had your smoke sessions together. Whether it was just a plain ol’ cigarette or perhaps a joint, no matter the item of choice, things were much calmer, more peaceful, especially with your presence.

Fezco turned to look at you, his eyes roaming over your facial features. He always stared a little too much when it came to you, and the soft glow from a nearby lamp did nothing to get him to stop the staring. His gaze shifted to your petite hands, seeing you rolling up a joint. There was a comfortable silence between you two. Not much needed to be said— you two were already so comfortable with each other.

As you raised the finished product, you sat up on his bed— you two were in his bedroom, your bodies practically touching each other — handing the joint his way. He lifted up his lighter and lit it in your hands, taking it from you and getting a hit from it. He leaned back against the headboard, his blue eyes meeting the ceiling. After a moment, he blew the smoke in the air, causing the room to have a specific aroma to it. He turned his head your way, bringing the joint up to your slighty parted lips. You leaned closer, taking a hit yourself, afterwards leaning against the headboard yourself. Fezco brought the joint up to his lips again, taking another hit.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” He asked, those words being quiet as the smoke left his mouth again. He let out a deep exhale. “Feels real good, shorty.”

His gaze wandered back to your face, seeing your relaxed figure. He always loved seeing you like this. During these sessions, even during times where you weren’t smoking with him, he just loved being around you. He lifted up his free hand, placing it on your thigh, his fingers tracing over the skin left exposed to him.