𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑

[🎲] [𝟐𝟎] 𝐁𝐚𝐝 𝐈𝐧𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞

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"I'm surprised the others agreed to drink with us on a Monday," As the two of you stroll leisurely down the lively street, side by side, he gently glides his fingers over the bristly stubble, feeling the rapid resurgence of hair as it gradually extends and spreads across his chin.

With a silent affirmation, you gently incline your head, expressing your agreement as you venture further into the dimly lit alleyway. "I think they all wanted an excuse to drink since it's been so long."

"It's always five o'clock somewhere," he declares with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, as the two of you find refuge leaning against the worn brick wall.

You can't help the playful grin adorning your lips as you stand opposite him.

Your gaze traces the contours of his physique, lingering on each detail of his attire as if savouring the visual feast before you.

"You should wear navy more often; you look good," you remark, your words laced with admiration, as he delicately positions a rolled blunt between his lips and deftly ignites the lighter beneath it.

The navy dress shirt, with its crisp collar and perfectly pressed fabric, adorns his body with an air of sophistication.

Its deep hue accentuates his features, complementing his complexion and bringing out the subtle hints of blue in his eyes.

As he stands tall, the shirt drapes elegantly over his frame, tailored to perfection to enhance his physique.

As you meet his gaze, you notice a peculiar expression on his face. His eyebrows are furrowed, creating a frame for his intense stare.

With his head slightly tilted downward, he seems to be peering at you with a mix of curiosity and intrigue.

A smile slowly forms on his lips.

As he takes in the first delicate puff, the tendrils of smoke curling around his lips, he exhales slowly, a wisp of amusement dancing in his eyes.

"You're going to make me blush," he murmurs, his voice laced with a hint of bashfulness.

Your hand swiftly reaches out, snatching the blunt from his outstretched fingers. A serene silence envelops the two of you, as if the world outside has momentarily ceased to exist.

Lost in your own thoughts, a particular memory replays in your mind, its significance urging you to break the tranquility.

Slowly, you part your lips, allowing the smoke from the blunt to enter your lungs, its wisps dancing in the air.

"Zeke, can I ask you a question?" You ask as the plumes of smoke escape your lips.

Without a moment's hesitation, he nods.

Hesitation grips you tightly, rendering you unable to find the words as your gaze remains fixed on him.

With a hesitant hand, you relinquish the blunt, its fragrant smoke curling lazily in the air.

Doubt lingers in your mind, a shadowy spectre, as you contemplate the forthcoming question.

Uncertainty tugs at your heart, whispering cautionary tales of the unknown. "The night of the boat incident, did you ever hate me for what I said?"

In the wake of your question, a sudden surge of emotions overwhelms him, causing a sharp intake of breath that nearly engulfs his throat in a cloud of smoke.

A brief cough escapes his lips, and with a subtle clearing of his throat, he regains his composure, as if gathering his thoughts before proceeding.

"The sexuality thing or..." his voice trails off, hesitant to even utter the words.