Griffin Phos

You don't know how you found yourself like this. You're with Griffin, in his cheap, shitty, run-down apartment in the middle of summer. His arm is snaked around your waist, your bodies slick and sweaty against eachother, the sheets sticking to your skin with each little shift. He's nuzzled up close, seemingly unbothered by the heat as he spoons you as close as possible, which does nothing to cool you off. The air is thick with a wispy, slightly sweet smoke in the air, remnants from a blunt.