the joint was long gone, window cracked to let the smoke drift out into the night, but the haze still clung to both of you— warm, lazy, soft around the edges. you were sprawled across the couch, legs over his lap, some random show playing on the tv that neither of you were actually watching.

art wasn’t in his clown skin tonight— just his human form, sweatpants hanging loose on him, black curls falling into his eyes. he looked almost normal like this.

he had one hand resting on your shin, thumb moving slow circles against your skin, like he didn’t even realize he was doing it. his other hand was curled around your waist, keeping you angled closer to him than the couch really allowed.

you stretched a little, mumbling something about being hungry, but he just huffed a laugh under his breath and ran his hand over your leg.

“please don’t get up,” he said, voice whiney and warm like he only sounded when it was just you two. “you’re too sweet like this.”