Chapter Text
Riki locked the handicap stall behind him, sighing. He still isn’t used to the signs in korea. He squats down against the wall, and drops his backpack. He unzips the black bag and shuffles through his school books until he finds it. Once his hand latches onto it, he sighs in relief. He grips the plastic zip-lock bag and pulls it up, as he comes face to face with his escape.
Weed
He looks at it and eyes the mushed up paper stuffed in between the small bags of green. He drops it down beside him, and he shuffles through his bag once more. He locates his herb grinder stuffed into the bottom of the bag, and pulls it out. He unclasps the two metal pieces and immediately gets to work. He hums with the tune of the song blasting through his air-pods.
NOW PLAYING
———— Post Malone - White Iverson ———
He pulls 4 weed chunks out of the mini plastic bag, and places them in the grinder. He puts the top on, and twists it. He twists it 6 times, and then unclasps it. He eyes the freshly-grind weed and deems it enough. He gently places the metal grinder next to him, on the floor. He reaches into the plastic bag, and pulls out 4 pieces of rolling paper.
He takes his binder out of his bag and places the paper on the highest point of the dip in the binder. He unclasps the metal grinder, and shakes some into the paper. He gives a generous amount, before rolling the left side over. He grabs the blunt with his fingers, and licks the rolled side, before rolling it over to seal it. He takes one look at it, and hums in approval. He folds the end and shuffles in his pockets for the lighter, he immediately puts it to his mouth and lights the end.
He inhales the first hit. He closes his eyes and looks up, holding it in for a couple seconds. He gently breathes it out and he feels the pit in his stomach disappear almost instantly, and a sense of calm wash over his body. He takes it to his mouth again, this time he counts in his head how long he holds it in for. 8 seconds. He exhales out harshly, and he feels the burn in his throat. He revels in the pain, and lets out a small groan.
The third feels better than the first two, and he only holds it for a couple seconds, taking a big breath of air, before blowing it out through his nose. It burns, and he smiles, lips upturning slightly as he takes in the burn. And then there’s a fifth, and he breathes it out through his nose slightly, before breathing it back in through his nose. This time, he feels no burn. He curses as a wave of euphoric-type relief hits him when he breathes it out through his mouth.
He is reaching for his sixth hit when he hears the bathroom door slam over, “Nishimura Riki!” The vice principle calls out his name. “Shit,” Riki curses, scrambling to clean up. He drops the blunt in his hand and the weed spills out of the tip. “Fuck, shit. I’m fucked,” he whispers to himself as he scrambles to try and clean it, gathering up the bits in his hands and stuffing them in his bag.
”What is that….,” the principle whispers, and Riki can hear him sniffing. At this, Riki relaxes, falling into a squat. He’s already fucked, he might as well stop scrambling. “You little…open this door this instant! Nishimura Riki,” the vp yells, mumbling a string of curses under his breath. Riki can’t help it, and he begins to laugh. “You think this is funny?” Riki finds his annoyance a little funny, but it was mainly the weed. He bites his lip to suppress a giggle. He hears the VP call over his walkie talkie, “Gonna need assistance on the boys bathroom, Code Riki.”
Riki bursts out giggling at that, “Code Riki,” he doesn’t cover his mouth this time, “..what the fuck,” he laughs, his eyes watering. From his laughter or the stench of weed in the air, he couldn’t say.
In the back of his mind, he knows he’s fucked. But, he can’t seem to care. The stall is still locked, as the VP has to wait for the staff to come back him up. He picks the half smoked-blunt up off the bathroom floor. It crosses his mind for a brief second how disgusting the bathroom floor probably is, but he can’t seem to give a fuck. The blunt is still smokeable, but his smoked-out mind brings his lighter up to the end again, pushing the weed up with his thumb as he folds the end higher up.
He brings it to his lips again, and all that’s on his mind is the bliss he feels when it enters his lungs, and he lets out a small laugh when he hears the VP yelling for him outside the door.
He’s totally fucked. He knows this.
He brings the final edge of the blunt up to his lips, and holds it in for as long as possible.
Yeah, he knows he’s fucked
But, he doesn’t want to stop this feeling.