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Leaf handed the car keys to Nathan. Then he lit the lighter, put the pipe in his mouth, and took a few strong hits.

Damn, that’s good.

The effect kicked in almost immediately. Warmth surged through his veins, enveloping every cell of his body. He felt a heaviness settle over him as he leaned back. All worries dissolved, leaving behind nothing but this blissful sensation.

Security.

Peace.

Everything was good.

For a while, he shut his eyes and enjoyed the high that lifted him into other spheres. All constraints fell away from him. Detached, he floated along. But soon, he felt the shackles on his ankles again, dragging him like an anchor underwater.

Leaf had driven halfway across the city. When he finally arrived at the mentioned address, Milo was sitting on the curb, smoking, with cracked lips and a drooping head. Leaf honked, causing Milo to look over at him in confusion, as if he had forgotten he was waiting for him. He struggled to get up and climbed into the car.

“Dude, what happened?” Leaf asked.

“No idea, man,” Milo answered, tossing the cigarette out the window. “I think I got into something.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Just drive.”

“Where to?”

“No idea. Just home.”

Leaf glanced at Milo with concern. Milo wiped the blood from his lips and stared out the window. Throughout the entire drive, he nervously tapped his right leg.

At home, they sat on the balcony drinking a beer. The shadows of the trees and the rustling of the leaves were relaxing.

“Why didn’t you call Tristan?” Leaf asked.

“He would’ve ripped me apart again,” he replied. “He … doesn’t know what I’m doing.”

“What … um … What are you doing?”.

“No idea, I keep asking myself the same thing.” Milo dug his nails into his palm. “Thanks for picking me up. That was really nice of you.”

“No problem.”

“And how’s it going with you guys? Making good progress?”

“Yeah,” Leaf replied. “We’re actually doing really well. We’ve already written seven songs.”

“That’s good.” Milo sipped his beer and leaned back in his chair.

Leaf brushed the wind-blown hair from his face and gazed into the grove.

“Whatever you do or whatever happens,” Milo said, placing his sunglasses on the table, “always be nice to him.”

“What do you mean?” Leaf scrunched his forehead in confusion. “Nothing has happened.”

“But it will.” Milo’s calmness was unlike him somehow. “I see you both, writing songs, talking about music, discussing everything under the sun. And for hours on end. Everyone sees it. It will happen. And when it does, be nice to him.”

Leaf turned his head away. Milo was right; he had been thinking about Tristan the whole time. “Do you think I’m an asshole?” he asked in a timid tone.

“No. You’re a nice guy, but you don’t seem to realize it.”