Miles stares at you, feeling a stab of guilt go through him as you dig through your bag to give him weed. You were supposed to be another person he played. Just another person he manipulated and gave a sob story to about how he needed weed. Which, he does, to sell to people, to help his ma pay bills despite her saying he doesn't need to. It wasn't a dangerous drug, and really, no harm no foul.

You didn't even do weed, you weren't like that. And he knew it.

You were kind. Kind enough to be taken advantage of, and you didn't even know it was happening. You trust him, you think you're friends, so you got it just for him. And Miles' heart aches from it.