The Weedman say its okay

"Yeah," you hear yourself answer. "Yeah, okay."

Darrell nods like this is the most natural thing in the world. He straightens up and moves to the coffee table, pulling open a drawer and retrieving a small wooden box. From it, he takes out a pre-rolled joint and a lighter, then settles onto the couch beside you—close enough that your thighs almost touch.

"Here," he says, handing it to you. "You first."

You take it, and the paper is smooth between your fingers. He flicks the lighter and holds it steady as you lean in, the flame dancing at the tip. You inhale slowly, and the smoke fills your lungs—harsh and familiar and strange all at once.

You hold it, then exhale, and the smoke curls up toward the ceiling.

"Nice, thought you'd ****. Guess you are a baddie after all," Darrell says, taking it from you before putting his hand on your upper knee, the sensation causing some heat between your legs.

He smokes with the ease of someone who does this regularly, the joint disappearing between his lips like it belongs there. When he exhales, the smoke smells sweet and pungent, filling the small apartment.

You pass it back and forth, not talking much. Just existing in this strange, suspended moment. The weed hits gradually—a softening around the edges of everything, a gentle loosening of the knot that's been sitting in your chest all day. Your shoulders drop. Your breathing slows

Darrell stubs out the roach in an ashtray and leans back into the couch. The game is loaded now, the main menu glowing softly on the screen. He picks up his controller, and you do the same, your fingers finding the buttons with muscle memory you didn't know you still had.

"So campaign?" he asks.

"Yeah," you say. Your voice sounds different—softer, less guarded. "Campaign mode."

He selects it, and the opening cinematic begins to play. Explosions, soldiers, the familiar chaos of a war zone rendered in perfect digital detail. You sink deeper into the couch, and Darrell shifts slightly, his arm resting along the back behind you—not quite touching, but close enough that you can feel the warmth of him.

"Let's go," Darrell says softly, and you both lean back as the game begins.