was just

John Murphy daydreams

from that CW show called The 100 that's on Netflix and I always go back to but never finish.

*AHEM*

"Do you believe in love at first sight? Or should I walk by again?"

~ when they realize they like you ~

"John, isn't it?" she shifted weight to one foot and stuck a hand into her jean's pocket.

"I prefer Murphy." he turned to face her.

"You wanna spark this with me, Murphy?" Long fingers pulled out a smooth joint, waggling it between them. He was suspicious, stuttering out a laugh. But she wasn't kidding, even after all the shit that day.

"Yeah." he relaxed and leaned against the crash ship while she took out a lighter. It sparked and the twirled paper at the end burned away. She brought the firm end to her lips, setting it gently between her teeth. The pale paper turned orange, revealing a dark green inside that burned like the sunset as she inhaled, rotated it, and inhaled again. Their hands met in the middle, nearly fumbling the pass. She cracked a smile as smoke oozed from her nose and mouth. He was stern, focused on the paper in his hands. Crickets were chirping, people were chatting by the crackling campfire, a slight breeze carried several clouds past the waxing moon above. Murphy breathed in through the rolled paper pinched between his fingers, pulling it away from his lips and continuing the breath. She was peering at him, particularly interested to see John Murphy let his guard down. And he did: for a second his eyes lit up as he tilted his chin toward the sky. Then his eyes widened, and he coughed. Wiping his mouth with his sleeve and handing back the joint with his other hand. She accepted it, laughing. He looked up at her and started laughing too, grinning down to the ground and wiping his nose with his sleeve. Hair fell into his eyes and he looked up at her through it. That almost made her choke, how could he be so handsome?

"How do you like it?"

"Pretty good." Now his grin was cheesy.

"When was the last time you smoked?"

"Hmmmm," he pondered, "never."

"What?" she teased, "weren't you fourteen when they put you away?"

He straightened his shoulders, "Yeah. How old were you when you started smoking?"

"Well... sixteen. That's a good point." she gestured to him, "I wouldn't want actual children to be ruining their lungs." Her next pull was mindful, thinking of how many times she had rolled a perfect joint like this one.

"So you're not the weed queenpin I thought you were," he smirked.

"Nope, just a part of the machine." she smirked back, "Somehow a packet of seeds made it onto the dropship. I guess that means some higher-up considered it valuable."

"That must be nice," he frowned and looked into the distance.

She hummed, "what d'you mean?" taking a deep pull and looking away to give him a moment to formulate.

"I got put away at fourteen." he waved a hand away from them, "Never been valuable."

"Psshh, whatever," she scoffed. The sound of crickets crept back in. "True: Endangering lives is bad. And bad things are complicated." passing the joint back to him and standing up straight. "If I remember right, you flipped on the guard that arrested your dad." He stayed quiet, still holding the joint, taking little sips off it and watching the smoke go. She continued, "If I remember right, after class one day you and Miller got into it. Then those two guards showed up, pulled you guys apart, and shoved you into the wall. Miller kicked the shit out of that guard." she smiled, remembering the justice of it all. "Then there was a lockdown in sector 5, and rumor spread that someone had lit the guard's quarters on fire. None of us knew how bad it was," gesturing broadly with her hands, "until Miller said that his dad had demoted those two guards the same night. "And you," heartbeats pounded in her chest when their eyes met, "you never came back to school."