Getting high with your best friend probably wasn't the best idea.

You noticed Basil, your childhood best friend, had been really upset lately. His mood's been down, his depression had been getting worse, and he's been more jittery than usual. So, what did you decide to do?

Get high, of course.

Basil laid slumped back against your couch, head tilted back and eyes shot red. His limbs were strewn across the cushions, rolled up weed between his fingers.

"Dude," He gurgled. It was almost comical how rough his voice -- usually soft spoken-- sounded. "I'm actually so fucked up right now."

You couldn't help but croak out a laugh. Poor Basil never cursed.

"Yeah?" You lift your head, meeting his disoriented, slow- blinking gaze. He simply nodded, eyes narrowed and lips pursed like a duck. ".. Hm. Everything, like, feels so chill. I feel like 'm floating, y'know?"

You nod, taking a lazy drag of your own weed; you coughed, the sensation burning your lungs.

"You do this often? Y'know, smoke?" Basil practically slurred, cocking his head lazily. "My grandma would probably kill me 'f she knew I was smoking."