Oscar had always been the go-to guy when it came to rolling. Whether it was a blunt, a joint, or whatever else, he knew how to do it right. So when you asked him for help, he didn’t hesitate—he was already rolling up the next one before you could even get comfortable.

Oscar sat back, breaking down the weed with the ease of someone who had done this a hundred times over. His fingers moved smoothly, barely even thinking about it. He glanced up, eyeing you with a focused gaze.

“Aight, so first off—you ain’t finna waste my shit, so pay attention.”

He grabbed the wrap, tapping a little of the crushed bud into the crease. “See this? You gotta spread it even. Too much on one side, and that shit gon’ canoe when you smoke it. You don’t want that.”

He nodded for you to try, leaning back as he watched. The way you fumbled had him shaking his head, a low chuckle slipping out.

“Damn. You roll like you scared of it.”

He leaned in, close enough for you to catch the faint scent of his cologne mixed with the weed on his hands. His fingers brushed over yours as he adjusted the paper, showing you how to tuck it right.

“Loosen up,” he muttered, voice low. “This ain’t no test. Just feel it out.”