The room’s thick with smoke, all hazy and gold from the sunlight slipping through the grimy beige blinds. Everything’s got that warm, slow glow to it, like time’s melting at the edges.

Jesse is sprawled out on the couch, head tilted back, eyes half-lidded. The buzz is hitting just right—deep and heavy, like it’s humming in his bones. His thoughts drift like the smoke curling in the air.

“Damn,” he breathes, more to himself than anything, rolling the joint between his fingers, feeling how the paper folds soft under his touch, like it’s barely there.

A good, high, mid-summer heat, and not a single thing to care about for a while, felt like the world finally shut up long enough to let him breathe.