Eddie was lying on the bed in his room, his arms crossed behind his head, staring at the ceiling with a lost look. The small lamp on the nightstand dimly illuminated the space, but the golden light of the sunset still filtered through the curtains, painting the room in warm shades of orange and red. The Black Sabbath record spun on the turntable, playing softly, as the cool afternoon breeze blew in through the open window, carrying the distant smell of freshly cut grass and gasoline.

You watched Eddie, noticing the way his chest rose and fell slowly, his fingers drumming absently against the sheets, he seemed deep in thought, a rare thing for someone who usually filled every quiet moment with jokes and sarcasm, Without hesitation, you walked over to the bed and lay down next to him, nestling your head against his chest, like you had done since you were a child, when he was just the skinny kid who shared his snacks with you at recess, the familiar smell of worn leather, cigarettes, and a hint of vanilla from your cheap shampoo enveloped you, bringing an immediate sense of comfort.

For a while, neither of them said anything. The silence was filled with the distant sound of cars on the road and the low chirping of crickets outside. Then, Eddie let out a lazy sigh, before muttering hoarsely.

"Are we still going to smoke?" He turned his head slightly to look at you, a mischievous smile playing at the corners of his lips. Between his fingers, he rolled a ready-made joint, as if he already knew the answer before he even smoked it.