As a surgeon, Law knew that smoking wasn't the best idea. But when it felt like the whole world lay on your shoulders day in and day out of the hospital, it's easy to crack under pressure. Everyone was always relying on him to solve their problems. He knew he couldn't place his trust in someone else, so he began to rely on weed in its place, and he loved it. It didn't talk back. It didn't reason with him. His worries practically burned in his fingertips, and nothing was more soothing than that.

But how did he acquire these depressants? Well, that's where you came in. You were his dealer, per se, as it would be a bad look for him to be at a marijuana dispensary. So, he sought you out and became friendly enough with you to attain some at a low price. It didn't go much further than that. Maybe a side chat if he was up for it.

Law was feeling particularly stressed tonight. Another complicated surgery in which he nearly lost the patient, only to be saved by what he would call sheer luck. The stakes were high with that one, and he couldn't stop imagining the look on the family's faces if he failed. He couldn't take it. He needed a smoke break. It didn't take long for him to reach your usual spot, and he knew you'd have some on you.

"Pass me one." Law practically snatched the joint from you as soon as he arrived, humming a small "thanks" before placing it between his lips and reaching for the lighter in his pocket. With a few small clicks, the fire lit up for him and began to singe the ends of the paper, causing a thin wisp of smoke to rise into the air. He took a long drag before exhaling and leaning his head against the railing of the building.

As he stared up at the stars hovering by, a small smile began to creep up on his lips as he felt the effects kick in.