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“Does it burn?”
Henry didn’t even look up from the small, glass pipe he was packing the leaves into. Harry sat next to him on his couch, overstuffed and worn in places the other man preferred to sit. Harry’s side, the side Henry left open for guests when they came round, sat a bit higher from the infrequent use. It wasn’t uncomfortable, necessarily, but overall slightly uneven. This only emphasized how Harry was feeling, watching his friend prepare the paraphernalia.
“It does the first few times,” Henry sat back as he answered, “You’re going to have to figure out how to inhale correctly. Don’t try housing it or anything. Best to go slowly.”
Harry nodded, hands clenching nervously into fists on his thighs. He watched Henry as he positioned the pipe in his hand, carefully placing his fingers in a way to both cup the device and cover the tiny opening on one side.
“It can be a bit tricky to hold it right at first as well,” he continued, “But you cover this part here to force the air through the filter at the top. And inhale as you’re lighting it.”
He demonstrated this, making the process look incredibly natural. Harry watched intently, mouth going dry.
It was nerves. About the drugs. Obviously.
Henry exhaled a moment later. Contrary to what Harry was expecting, the cloud was nothing like the thick, opaque ones he’d seen his other friends produce with their vape pens (another thing they were trying to introduce him to against his will.) This cloud was lighter, more so than even cigarette smoke. It gave Harry the impression that perhaps this whole process will be easier than he’d been making it out to be.
Henry smiled in a kind of, “and there you have it” way that made Henry’s insides turn to goo.
But that had to be the nerves again. About the drugs. Obviously.
It was his turn now.
He fumbled a bit to mimic the way Henry had held the pipe. The glass was still warm from the other man’s hands, and it occurred to Harry then that his lips would be touching the same part as Henry’s had. The other man didn’t even give it a cursory wipe on his shirt before handing it over. But the thought made his grip falter and he ended up dropping the pipe onto the floor, scattering the leaves.
“Shit,” Harry mourned, mortified. Henry exhaled a sharp, amused breath and bent down to paw uselessly at the half-ashed leaves in the carpet.
“It happens. I’ll hold it for you this time so you don’t drop the lighter next.”
Harry debated throwing himself out the window, but Henry lived on the first floor of the building so that wouldn’t really accomplish anything.
Pipe re-packed, Henry scooted closer from his spot on the sofa to hold the pipe to Harry’s lips. Their thighs were pressed tightly against each other and Henry met Harry’s gaze with a soft, encouraging smile. The flames kissed the leaves and Harry inhaled far, far too sharply.
Oh Christ that burned.
Harry started coughing immediately in great, painful, desperate hacks. Each breath rattled him to his core and renewed the fire that damnable herb ignited. Henry remained close to Harry’s doubled over form, rubbing his hand in firm, comforting circles over Harry’s upper back. Finally, several minutes later, the worst of the coughs dissipated into soft wheezes. Henry was sympathetic but chided him slightly.
“Now what’d I say?”
“Not…” Harry gasped, swallowed, and cleared his throat, “Er, not to inhale like that.”
“Yeah, basically.”
Kind host that he was, Henry got a cup of water for his friend and let him fully recover before re-strategizing yet again. This was coupled with another hit of his own, and Harry swore he could see the moment the next idea came to him.
“Okay, I’ve got it.”
“Henry, I don’t know if this is really worth it.”
“No, no,” he exhaled quickly, puffing out a small stream of smoke before continuing, “It is. You’ll like this. Just turn toward me a bit more.”
Harry did so obediently. His one leg was now tucked up on the couch with the other foot still on the floor. His glass of water, now mostly empty, was still a short reach away, in case of another embarrassing failure. Once again, Henry took a hit from his pipe. This one was a longer draw, Harry noticed, but didn’t have time to ask why before Henry quickly stashed the pipe and lighter to the side, next to Harry’s water, and then his hands were on the other man’s face and—
Harry gasped when the warm and soft weight of the other man’s open mouth pressed against his. Henry then exhaled gently into Harry’s mouth, filling his lungs with the spicy smoke.
If asked, Harry would have sworn he couldn’t actually breathe in that moment. But he must have because the dreamy, calming effects of the drug were finally starting to take place and the burn of his previous attempt became a warm kindling in his chest. When Henry pulled away, Harry almost followed him, telling himself he was chasing the hazy smoke, not his friend’s lips. He opened his eyes then. When had he closed them?
“Better, right?”
Harry nodded stupidly. Henry chuckled, and reached for the pipe again.
“Another one?”
“Yes,” Harry answered maybe a bit too quickly.
End.