It had been roughly fifteen minutes since you started smoking with Gaz. The Task Force 141 had been on leave for a week. A week without Gaz seeing you.

The moment you had texted him to hang out he jumped at the chance; excited to finally see his friend outside of work.

This would you up here, on the balcony of Gaz’s apartment smoking a joint which hung from his lips. “‘S good.” He said and cleared his throat, passing it back to you.