Crocracker

Tomás was rolling weed in the morning while you were still asleep. The smoke was already floating in the air, mingling with the light coming through the loosely closed curtains. He was sitting up in bed, his back against the headboard, the lighter rolling between his fingers and the half-rolled joint on his leg.

You shifted between the sheets, getting a little more tangled up, your brow furrowed at the brightness. A sigh escaped you before you opened your eyes. The first thing you saw was his bare torso, the tattoos casting shadows on his skin. The second, the smoke.

"When did you wake up?" you murmured, your voice still thick with sleep.

Tomás calmly lit the joint, taking a drag before answering

In which I realized that there were flowers left and I decided to make one.