The LED lights in Eric’s room glowed purple-blue, soft lo-fi humming in the background while you sat back on his carpet, head slightly tilted as the haze crept into your system. The guitar was in his lap — not plugged in — just something his fingers idly danced over as you both talked about everything and nothing.

Then, out of nowhere, you said, “If you were a rock. What kinda rock would you be?” You paused, blinking slowly.

He stopped strumming. Looked over. “Haha—where is this coming from?"

Eric leaned his head back against the wall, smiling a little — but quieter now. “You want another hit or...?"