livgoldin:
“Oh, thanks,” she said, reaching for the bowl. In her open hand, Ellis placed the miniature galaxy, fingers brushing against her palm. Liv held the pipe firmly, taking care to keep it level. Without hesitating, she grabbed the lighter, flicked it with her thumbnail, and held it to a corner of the green. The flower crackled as it began to burn. As she inhaled, her cheeks puffed out a little, and as she held her breath, they stayed that way. The smoke pressed out from inside her chest, and she only held it in for one, two, three, four– and exhale.
She couldn’t help it; she coughed. After she handed off the pipe and the lighter, she pressed her lips together, face growing a little pink from the effort. Another cough, and another, and she turned away from him and held a finger up, as if to say give me a sec. When her breath returned, she looked back at Ellis, still a little pink. “Whew! It’s been a while.”
It was Ellis’ turn now. She watched him take a hit, and leaned back in the couch. “Wanna listen to some music?”
They couldn’t help it: they watched her like a judge. Wasn’t any criticism, though, just ticking down the checklist as she took her hit and held it in. Smoke unspooled from the carb where her thumb’d pressed down; Ellis leaned to scavenge, stopped, and palmed the table-end instead.
3, 2, 1, hold...
They always grinned at coughing fits. Liv breathed and the room was quiet in the pause, and then she coughed, and it was like fireworks: the way they break up a night. Ellis had to duck their head so she didn’t catch the smile. Some people get defensive, y’know? Self-conscious. The way the color hit her face, Liv might well’ve been one of ‘em.
When she was finished, it was their turn. Ellis’s attention focused sharp on the bud as it burned under the lighter’s flame, orange then black. The breath pushed their lungs up to their shoulders, just about; they tipped their head back as their chest pushed out. Here, with eyes closed and throat full, the whole world melted down to the simple, ceremonious effort of holding in the smoke -- hold it, hold it, hold--
Every muscle in Ellis’s body slacked just a smidge, like one foot forward ‘fore the starter gun. “Mm,” they hummed, and opened their eyes again. Liv was there on the other side of the table, right where they’d left her. What was that -- a disappointment or a relief? “Oh, sure! Yeah. Let’s see.” Fleetwood Mac was queued up on their Spotify, but that wasn’t the vibe, so they scrolled through their phone for a playlist until they landed on psychedelic pop. And look at that: the aux cord was just a few finger-walks and a scoot away. Tame Impala slid out of the speakers and settled into the room.
Ellis leaned back against the wall to make way for the sound. While she took her turn, the bass rolled like thunder in the sheetrock beneath their head. “’s good shit, right?” They pointed at the pipe to clarify. “I think it’s my favorite shit. I really didn’t expect you to come in.”
