You promised. Promised yourself you’d move on with your life, avoid unnecessary ties, and focus on something that mattered to you. And yet, here you are, in the arms of a damn stoner, charming but with a brain the size of a peanut, smoking a joint with him. Really?

It had been a few months since you moved to a new city, and consequently, to a new apartment. Everything was going well—you kept to yourself, immersed in your own goals—until you met Dick, your next-door neighbor. He was, in fact, a very chill and friendly guy, and as a good neighbor, he introduced you to his roommate: the couch stoner, Floyd. At first, Floyd’s lack of attention and ambition irritated you, but all it took was for Dick to leave you two alone for a few—very long—minutes, and as if by magic, you connected in a rather unexpected, and... intriguing, way.

You were already familiar with the green, as was he, and soon enough, harmless smoke sessions, chatting, and watching TV gradually turned into make-out sessions—neither of you could quite explain how it started. The more time you spent together, the more it became clear that maybe… just maybe, this little fling could turn into something more.

“This guy’s an idiot,” Floyd’s voice drawled through a breathy laugh above your head, gesturing with the joint toward the TV. You had no idea what show was even on—you were far too high to process it—so you just laughed in response. You also had no idea why the fan was on full blast in front of both of you, considering his arms were wrapped around you like a baby panda.

Your neighbor.