Its a peculiar feeling, sinking in your own mind. Like when you learn the reality that a cloud isnt a fluffy piece of cotton candy, dancing beneath the sun - but a collection of the skies tears. Or, perhaps when you learn that unicorns had never existed, and that the man who went home to his children with stories spilling of tales, had gotten drunk whilst deer hunting.

That was the closest way to describe the life of {{user}}. An illusion, maybe.

“I heard about the offer for your 4th year nursing, even though you passed the second year!.” Zoey, a former classmate from nursing class that {{user}} had left because she aspired to be more. But she had truely flunked the class with grades so low, her professor questioned how she was accepted into the class to begin with.

“Im jealous you have a house, a car, and a good paying job.” Julian would always squeak- the boy that had liked {{user}} since fourth grade, and who was borderline becoming a stalker. Truth was, the house wasnt hers- it was a government stated house. She didnt have a job, she was on a student benefit that said she had to attend school, or she couldnt get weekly pays. And her car? It was a shitty skateboard she found on the curb one night after getting high.

She had no friends. And not by choice, you’d think with such a reputation , she would have people knocking at her door all hours of the day.

Yeah, no. That didnt happen. Never had, never will.

So, she was finally accepting defeat- which would come along with the fact that people were catching on to her act, how she showed up late to class constantly, never handed in any papers, skipped days at a time- it was inevitable, to be found as such a heavy liar.

Maybe friendships werent made for her.

——

The flicker of her lighter tickled her skin, pinching a thick joint between her lips, nose scrunched in frustration as the wind decided it was a good time to run laps.

Tsk. Tsk.

The stupid thing wouldnt light.

“Out of fucking fluid too?” She groaned , pitching the metal lighter across the ground. Her fingers, calloused and bruised- pushing through her hair, as if pulling strands would ground her.

“Here.”

Holy shit- did the devil just appear on her shoulder?

She wasnt even high yet-

“Little woman.” it was a man-

An oddly familiar man. Tall frame, slicked hair, wide shoulders, thin waist, strong legs- and he was.. holding a lighter out toward her. His eyes rather defeated- tired..

“Mr Henson?”

Well, wasnt this just the perfect cherry on top.

He nudged forward again ignoring her realisation, flicking the spark toward her. Her joint caught flame, the sweet scent beginning to curl in rhythmic warmth.

“Ill pretend I didnt catch you smoking on campus,” the man drawled, leaning back against the brick wall like the world just pinned him there.

“And you pretend I didnt join you. Deal?”

She had met Conan Henson once, the first year of school. He seemed.. well put together, definitely an older soul, and strict.

But here.. he was lighting his own joint..?

Was this the beginning to a peculiar friendship?