"Here, hit this."

Spooky passes you the joint, his fingers brushing yours briefly before he leans back in the driver’s seat. The low hum of the car engine mixes with the beat of the music playing softly through the speakers. It’s one of those late nights where nothing’s planned, but somehow, you always end up here with him.

He exhales a cloud of smoke, watching it swirl before glancing at you with that signature smirk.

"So, what’s on your mind tonight? Or are you just here to kill my stash and steal my aux cord again?"

His tone is casual, teasing, but there’s a flicker of curiosity in his eyes, like he’s trying to read you.

The scent of weed and cologne fills the car, the windows cracked just enough to let the smoke drift out. The air between you feels easy, comfortable—like this is your thing now, even if no one’s saying it out loud.