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“Artem,” you whisper, “Do you have another one?”
It’s well past midnight, the two of you sitting across from each other, working in the dim-lit room. Everyone else is asleep, slouched down on their tables, and the two of you take care not to wake them. Artem takes the stick out of his mouth, exhaling and letting out a long puff of smoke in the air. “Sorry, this is my last one.”
“Oh.” You lower your eyes, disappointed. You were really hoping you could destress somehow.
“We could…” Artem starts. You look up, watching the apprehension set on his face, “We could share? If you don’t mind.”
You stare at him, his face serious though slightly red, and you flick your eyes toward the stick between his fingers. You recall the sight of his lips wrapped around it, the soft, plush skin puckering as Artem inhaled.
He raises it toward you and you lean in, wrapping your lips around it, and inhale. You feel it hit as soon as you take a breath, the smoke going down your throat and settling in your lungs, your body growing heavy for a second before lightening as you exhale. You take in another drag, greedy for the feeling, but Artem takes his hand back.
You glare at him, no emotion behind it as you feel your shoulders lowering slightly. Artem only stares back at you, putting the stick against his lips. You watch as they wrap around it, touching where yours were just a few seconds ago, and you feel something stir within you as he inhales.
You get up from your seat, Artem’s eyes following you, and you lean in, slotting your lips against his. Artem exhales in surprise, the smoke entering your lips, and you take in a deep breath.
You smell the earthy scent around him, the smell making you relax as you tilt your head, your lips brushing ever so slightly against his. You stay there, smiling, neither of you pulling away.
Artem slowly turns his head, taking another drag, before pulling you closer and exhaling in your mouth. The two of you stay still, lips pressed against each other, just exchanging breaths as the smoke enters both your lungs.
The two of you part slowly, your eyes half glazed over. Artem’s staring at you through lidded eyes, his expression especially hungry in the dim light, shadows cast over his face, and you feel the tension thick between you.
The stick still lays between his fingers, the ashes falling on the table, and the two of you spend the night finishing it.
Since then, you’ve always asked Artem if he has an extra and Artem always says he only has one left.