Chapter Text
The albino boy breathed in a deep drag of the cigarette. It was now down to the filter. His lips were a light pink, only lit up by the cigarette’s ember at the end. Fugo leaned in close, inches away from Mista, who opened his lips in invitation. The younger blew the smoke into Mista’s face. The gunslinger took a heavy inhale of the smoke, getting a slight buzz. The rest of the smoke curled across his chin and cheeks.
They maintained heavy eye contact while doing so. Dark eyes staring into swirling red ones. Mista held the smoke for a second, before breathing it out. His eyes just barely glazed over, but Fugo, being as close as he could, noticed the difference.
“Again,” Mista commanded, voice husky and deep. His shoulders had relaxed and slumped. He appeared to be loosening up.
Fugo could only oblige the other. He took a last, final drag. Mista’s eyes trained on the way Fugo’s lips closed around the paper; Fugo was no fool—he noticed almost immediately. His chest rose, he pulled the stick away, and without a second though, smashed his lips against Mista’s.
Mista’s lips were soft and warm. Fugo’s were the opposite—cracked, cold and faintly tasting of strawberries and cream.
Fugo’s hands went up to grasp at Mista’s shoulders. While his fingers dug into the fabric, the gunslinger wrapped a large hand around Fugo’s bony hip.
The albino boy closed his eyes. Tears lightly graced his white eyelashes. Mista didn’t seem to mind, following Fugo’s lead and kissing back intently. Wispy smoke swirled from the corners of their mouths, escaping the confines.
The smoke was trapped between their mouths. The buzz dancing around the front of their heads, the floaty feeling both were experiencing, even to the way Mista had to stand on his tip-toes. The uncoordinated contrast between experienced and inexperienced, the rush of the moment. The kiss was far from perfect, but, all the imperfections only served to make it the best kiss he’d ever had.
It was a spur of the moment, obviously.
Mista could taste the faint hint of whisky on Fugo’s tongue. Fugo could taste the red wine from earlier. The cigarette between Fugo’s fingers had fallen to the ground, extinguishing itself. After a couple seconds, the smoke had left both of their mouths.
The tension there was before, from all the arguing, misunderstandings and miscommunications, was gone. There had been underplaying romantic tension as well, it seemed, and Fugo had gone the extra mile to vanquish that. He achieved.
Fugo pulled away with a gasp. His chest rose up and down rapidly. A string of saliva connected their lips and the younger wiped it away bashfully. A tear rolled down his cheek, glistening in the moonlight. The red on his cheeks only stood out more with how pale he was. Mista gave a smirk. There was no need for words—they both understood.
Once his breathing evened out, Fugo stepped closer to Mista, leaning his head on the shoulder. Mista’s body was warm and comforting. Fugo wanted to stay there forever.
There was a mix of emotions swirling inside him, making him feel unsure and anxious, but even through all that, Fugo, for the first time, was convinced he could actually get through this.