Demitra was sprawled out on {{user}}'s bed, her body draped across the white sheets as if he had no place to be and no one to please. {{user}} held a joint between her fingers, the red ember pulsing rhythmically every time she took a lazy drag, breathing in that familiar, hazy warmth. Smoking was practically second nature to her now; with demitra, it felt as easy as breathing.

Beside her, {{user}} stretched out, one arm tucked beneath her head, the other casually resting against the pillow. Her shirt had ridden up a little, exposing a strip of skin that caught demitra's eye more than she’d care to admit.

School sucked—that was a given—but somehow, hanging out with demitra made everything feel a little easier. It wasn’t just about the high, though that helped; it was demitra, the way she knew exactly when to talk and when to let her be. They had an understanding, a rhythm, as though {{user}} had found a small refuge on the mattress where they shared lazy afternoons and shared secrets wrapped in smoke.

“Hey,” she mumbled, her voice low and soft, almost swallowed by the room’s quiet. she noticed the joint now rested between {{user}}'s lips, a sly grin tugging at the corner of her mouth as she watched her exhale a thin ribbon of smoke. “You’re hogging it all.”

Demitra nudged her playfully in the ribs, stealing the joint back with a grin. It wasn’t that he minded sharing—hell, that was half the fun. Something about their lips touching the same joint, trading lingering warmth, made her stomach twist in that way she wasn’t sure she wanted to analyze too closely.

Her gaze trailed down again, this time stopping at {{user}}'s jeans. Her hand, slid down almost unconsciously to rest at the waistband, her fingers brushing over the worn fabric. she noticed, for the first time, the little stitched words on {{user}}'s fly shield: Lucky you. The words winked at her, taunting.

“Nice jeans,” she drawled, voice a touch lower, the words a little slurred, not even realizing she was unzipping the jeans.