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Nana’s red-coated lips puff out wisps of smoke.
She pinches the pipe between slender fingers, and she is at ease. Her eyes are screwed shut, purple eyeshadow unscathed. Hachi wishes she could pull it off - Nana’s careless presses of makeup that stand stark against her pale complexion. Nana dons it all like a second skin.
But the tint of her lips is what draws Hachi’s eye time and again.
She watches with intrigue, tracing the parted ‘o’ as if satiating some underlying hunger. It feels only natural, and her gaze seems to dart of their own accord.
A flush creeps up her neck when Nana blinks open her eyes. Reflexively, Hachi looks away; suddenly she is fixated by an almost-empty pack of Seven Stars. There are only two left, pressed together despite the spaciousness.
“Hey Hachi,” Nana says, commanding her attention with two droned syllables. Hachi looks up. Half-moon eyes stare back; the rims of red are light, but there nonetheless. Strangely, she can always discern the changes in her roommate - the absence of mascara, a darker shade of lipstick, sober, high. Hachi prides herself on the knowledge she subconsciously stores.
“Hm?”
Nana snorts, “You’re uncharacteristically quiet.” She takes a slow drag, emphatic.
“Long day of work, you know how it is. Sakagami is so mean to me for no reason. Today she yelled at me for ordering her coffee with whipped cream. I was tired, okay? The whipped cream was supposed to be for mine. Nana, she gets her coffee black. It’s so bitter and - and gross if anything, I was doing her a favor.”
Nana laughs. It’s a raspy sound, and it soothes Hachi’s distress in waves. “Didn’t know you had such serious takes on coffee, Hachiko.” Nana glances at her for a second, and it’s not like Hachi minds the scrutiny - she’s more than comfortable with Nana’s attention. However, something about Nana’s steady gaze stirs something within. It’s warm with the air of a campfire; it’s a sweet sensation, and Hachi basks in it.
“Say, you wanna try?”
Hachi realizes with a start that Nana is indicating the pipe, with its innocent smolder and contrary smell. Involuntarily, Hachi crinkles her nose.
“You don’t have to - it’s just an offer,” Nana says good-naturedly. It’s clear she’s amused.
“No, it’s just - I’ve never…” Hachi trails off, suddenly unsure. It’s true - she’s never smoked anything before. It’s never crossed her mind, not even with the fixture of a cigarette between her roommate’s fingers. Plumes of smoke linger around Nana like an accessory - as consistent as the black paint of her nails, or Vivienne Westwood jewelry.
“Never?” Nana’s brows raise, devoid of derision, but with genuine surprise. “Huh. Honestly, good on you. Terrible habit, but it’s too late for me now.” She exhales, slow and measured. Nana’s eyes flutter shut, and Hachi can’t help but admire the sight. Nana’s feline charm has always fascinated her - it should be unfair for anyone to be that perfect. Every action is carried out with precision.
Hachi had once thought it was envy that she felt. Now, she’s not too sure.
Without thinking, Hachi blurts, “I wanna try.”
Brows furrowing, Nana seems reluctant now that Hachi agrees. “Are you sure? I mean, I wasn’t pressuring you or anything. It’s fine if you don’t want to -”
“Nana,” Hachi whines. “I’m serious - it’s not like I’ll see the Demon Lord or something.”
“Here you go again with the Demon Lord.”
“Stop changing the subject! I want to try. For real.” Hachi looks at her roommate pleadingly, hands clasped together as if in prayer.
After a beat, Nana sighs, “Fine. Just don’t complain if you don’t like it.” She beckons Hachi over, “Come here.”
Hachi crawls over tentatively, eyeing the pipe. Whiffs of Mary Jane invade her nostrils, and she contains her wince.
“You can still chicken out, you know.”
“You said you weren’t pressuring me!”
“You insisted on trying,” Nana snickers, staring up at Hachi expectedly. She holds the pipe out, and Hachi eyes it almost suspiciously. After a moment of hesitation, she reaches out.
“Hey, I’ll hold it for you.” Hurriedly, she pulls the tube out of Hachi’s grip. When Hachi protests, she chuckles, “Hachiko, at your rate, you’ll drop it. I’m not sure we’ll find a better deal than this apartment if you burn it to the ground.”
Hachi huffs, but complies obediently. Nana places the tip before Hachi’s parted lips, and in a sense, the procedure is sacred - Nana guiding, Hachi following. Always following.
“Easy, Hachiko,” Nana whispers, transfixed on every move Hachi makes. Her brown eyes seem to swallow her whole. They’re endless chasms of warmth, much like the flame emitting from the lighter, steady, as Nana ignites it.
Hachi inhales, and the burn of tobacco floods her lungs, effectively disrupting every pretense of peace.
When she coughs, it’s harsh.
“Shit, Hachi - are you okay?” Nana asks, a startled crease forming between her brows. Her nails make sharp indentations on her chin, willing Hachi to meet her eyes. Hachi tilts her head up, her gaze glassy.
“I’m - ” she hacks, “fine! Don’t worry!” Her words are punctuated by a violent cough. It certainly doesn’t help her case much.
“I’m never letting you do that again. Don’t breathe in so quickly, Hachiko.” Nana shakes her head.
“Nana! I’m fine!” Hachi insists, not willing to back down, though her mouth tastes like death, and the fog has yet to dissipate from her lungs. She resists the urge to cough, determined.
“The sour look on your face says otherwise,” Nana retorts.
She pouts. Hachi supposes she’ll have to prove to Nana that she’s fine and cool like her.
“Hachi, what are you doing -”
Hachi doesn’t dignify her with a response, only places the pipe back between her lips, and grabs Nana’s lighter before she can react.
“Hey!”
“See?” Hachi grits, exhaling. “I’m cool.”
She breaks out into a fit of coughs, and the smell of smoke permeates the air once more.
“Nana…”
Hachi’s voice is drawn out, and it’s a herculean feat to say much else.
“Oh, Hachi,” Her roommate sighs through the fog - the light at the end of her nicotine-induced tunnel.
Hachi feels as if she’s floating, clouds carrying her through the haze. She seeks their plushness, only to find they don’t evaporate from her feather-light feel. They’re cold to the touch and very firm, and she voices her confusion: “Huh…”
She blinks her eyes open to investigate, noting how her lids feel like dead weight. She is met with the sight of Nana, holding her in the confines of her arms. Her lips are pursed, and one of Hachi’s fingers reaches out involuntarily. She misses her mouth completely and laughs, her finger tainted by a smudge of scarlet.
“What are you doing, Hachiko,” Nana murmurs, eyeing her skeptically. It only makes Hachi giggle harder.
“You’re holding me, Nana…” She tries to say, though her words all slur together. Dopamine reels through her brain, and Hachi hasn’t felt such bliss before. Not even beneath Shoji’s sheets.
She thinks Nana responds, though she is too fixated on the shapes Nana forms with her lips. The red is not so neat anymore, and it escapes its bow-shaped frame. Hachi needs to clean it - or mess it up some more. She doesn’t know why, but it’s a need that stems deep in her core.
Nana grumbles, “You’re not even listening to me, are you -”
However, she doesn’t get very far, courtesy of Hachi bringing her desires to fruition.
There is a muffled gasp of surprise, though it is lost to the feel of Hachi’s mouth. With all the might she can muster, she presses her lips to Nana’s, pink gloss colliding with rosewood red.
Euphoria is infinite, and it’s the last thing Hachi feels before she falls - dead weight into her best friend’s arms.