Seated crosslegged on the roof of the Humanities building underneath a blanket of pink and orange hues, Chase sparked up his lighter and singed the end of his joint. He took a generous hit and held it for several seconds as he appreciated the quiet comfort of another day’s closing. Whenever he wasn’t particularly busy or just craved some solitude and a picturesque view, he could often be found smoking on the roof. Granted, he generally stuck to cigarettes, but he didn’t see any harm in indulging himself every once and a while. Ears picking up on the creaking of the door he’d previously come outside through, Chase stubbed the joint into the concrete of the rooftop and mumbled a string of curses to himself. “Son of a bitch. Fucking shit.” Glancing up at the other with an expression of vague annoyance, he silently wondered if his newfound company caught a whiff of the illicit substance. “I didn’t realize I was being followed,” he accused coldly, hoping his prickly demeanor would proof effective at getting rid of this person.
