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Stars were falling from the sky.
The kind of poetic phrase you might find in some novel somewhere — and the night air was clear enough that I could think it without a trace of embarrassment.
"Hey — do you have any idea what floor this is?"
"Just a moment. One, two, three… four?"
"That's right! So please use the front door like a normal person — it's dangerous!"
On nights alone, I want a cigarette.
I can't explain why, even if asked. I'm not exactly a junkie — I haven't stacked up nearly enough cigarettes for that — but when I have nothing to do with my hands, I light one almost automatically and watch the white smoke dissolve into the night sky. Somehow that always seems to carry away the accumulated noise in my head too.
I started smoking not long after I turned twenty. Looking back now, the reason is almost embarrassingly adolescent, but at the time I had somehow convinced myself that smoking was proof of being an adult. The upperclassmen drifting through clouds of purple smoke after lectures looked strangely cool, and I suppose I wanted to join their ranks. So without much thought at all, I walked into the nearest convenience store. I had no preference for brand — I had no knowledge at all, and of course there was no way I could tell the difference in taste. When a practiced clerk asked "Which number would you like?" I panicked and blurted out a random box number. That was the beginning of me and cigarettes.
Such an unglamorous origin story. And sure enough, my very first cigarette was awful, despite all my bravado. The moment I inhaled, I coughed spectacularly; I remember choking through watery eyes, thinking I am never doing this again, how is anyone supposed to get smoke into their lungs.
And yet — somehow, before I knew it, smoking while feeling the night breeze had become a habit. Maybe that's just how life works sometimes. The ember glowed red in the dark. I was gazing idly as the exhaled smoke dissolved into the night sky — when it happened.
"Hey."
A voice dropped suddenly from above.
I looked up in surprise to find Stay Gold, one hand hooked around the drainpipe running along the outer wall — poking her face over the edge of my balcony railing with the casual ease of someone stopping by on an evening stroll.
What followed — as described above — was a series of lectures: What floor does she think this is? and What would she have done if she'd slipped? and Call ahead before you come next time.
I think I ran through every reprimand I could think of.
"Good grief, I thought I was going to faint…"
"Sorry, sorry."
The culprit just laughed, utterly unrepentant, which drained away even my will to stay angry. She showed absolutely no sign of genuine remorse. Well — she had apologized, so perhaps she was. But either way, I had a strange certainty that she would do the exact same thing again next time.
"This, at least, is something I won't budge on."
After I'd delivered my full sermon, I reached for my portable ashtray. The cigarette I'd hastily stubbed out earlier was still half-remaining, trailing a thin thread of smoke. I moved to close the lid and put it out entirely — when Stay Gold's hand came to rest on my arm, stopping me.
"Leave it. Sorry for interrupting, but you were in the middle of it, weren't you?"
"You don't have to worry about that."
"I'm not worrying. We're past that kind of distance, aren't we?"
Stay Gold shrugged and leaned lightly against the balcony railing.
"But you don't smoke, do you?"
"Hmm? I don't make a habit of it, but I've smoked before."
"Wha—"
She said this while narrowing her eyes at the smoke drifting by on the night breeze. I was genuinely rattled. I had vaguely assumed she was the kind of person who had nothing to do with cigarettes.
— Wait. Hold on. She was—
"…When was that?"
"That would be… let me think. A few years back, when I was staying with a tribe deep in the jungle—"
"You were still underage back then!!"
"Ha ha ha, don't sweat the small stuff."
She said it so breezily that I was briefly speechless. Apparently this particular tribe had a custom of passing a cigarette around as a greeting, and refusing would have gotten you labeled an enemy with arrows to follow. And the herb-roasted snake there was absolutely exquisite, by the way, et cetera. Stay Gold rattled on with stories I couldn't tell were true or not.
I had intended to let it wash over me. But something in my chest was quietly unsettled. I wasn't sure why. Was it the fact that she'd smoked as a minor while she was still racing? Or the glimpse of a side of her I'd never known? Both, probably — I could guess at the rough answer, but whatever I was feeling had no name for it, and I ground the bitterness of it between my back teeth. Stay Gold noticed my frown and seemed to enjoy it, the corner of her mouth curling upward.
"What's wrong, what's wrong? Does it bother you that much? Want me to tell you more? The price of the story would be — let's say — one cigarette for me too. That（・）won't（・）bother（・）you（・），will it?"
"……"
She was pointing at the cigarette between my fingers. The ember flickered small and red, much like Stay Gold herself was right now — teasing me. Damn, this woman. That grinning face of hers is infuriating.
I had absolutely no intention of giving her one. I was actually devising what kind of punishment to inflict on this mischief-maker.
I took one breath — and brought the cigarette to my lips. Slowly inhaled. Let the night air fill my lungs. Then I turned to face Stay Gold, who was watching me with hopeful eyes.
And — fuu.
I deliberately blew a full stream of white smoke straight at her face. For just a moment, Stay Gold's shape blurred away behind a curtain of smoke. The night breeze stirred the haze, and it drifted past her dark bay hair, trailing over the tips of her ear tufts and away.
"!?"
Apparently even she hadn't anticipated that — I heard her break into startled coughing.
"Kuh-huh-huh, what are you doing?!"
"That's plenty for a precocious little kid. Cigarettes? Come back in a hundred years."
"I'm technically an adult already!"
See that, Stay Gold. I squared my shoulders, letting the smug satisfaction show on my face. This was educational guidance, nothing more. Surely I couldn't be blamed for enjoying her moment of flustered panic.
I watched her swish her tail back and forth to wave away the smoke, privately feeling quite pleased with myself. Look at that — usually she floats through everything so effortlessly, but it turns out she's surprisingly weak to this kind of sudden attack. The way she was glaring at me with slightly watery eyes reminded me of a sulky cat, which I found unexpectedly funny.
"Heh."
A little snort escaped me. All the irritation from being yanked around by her antics dissolved in one sweep. How do you like that? This is what adult composure looks like. Riding that gloating feeling, I gave the cigarette a little twirl between my fingers to show off.
…In retrospect, I should have stopped there. Despite our long acquaintance, I had forgotten one important thing: that Stay Gold is not the type of person to simply accept a loss and leave it at that.
"……Hey."
Stay Gold, who had been coughing, suddenly went still. Then, brushing her dark bay hair aside with her fingertips, she fixed me with a long, steady look.
"Do you know what it means to blow cigarette smoke at your lover?"
"……Excuse me?"
"You didn't know when you did it?"
"Uh… no…"
"Oh, is that so. So you didn't know — then you're quite the femme fatale without even trying."
Niiyaaa.
The corner of her mouth curved up slowly. Ah — that face is not a good sign. My long-cultivated instincts were ringing every alarm bell at full volume.
"Then shall I teach you?"
"I'm quite alright, thank you."
"Don't be shy. I'll walk you through it step by step, nice and thoroughly."
"There is literally nothing reassuring about that!?"
Paying no attention to my protest whatsoever, Stay Gold reached out casually. She plucked the cigarette — still half remaining — from between my fingers.
"Ah—"
"Well, first things first, we should put this out properly. You'd be the one in trouble if it caused a fire."
"Wait—!?"
And with that, she pressed the lit end into her palm. A small tss sound. Stay Gold opened her hand as if nothing had happened. A little wisp of smoke drifted up — and then flakes of ash fell, scattering. The ember was out cleanly.
"What if you burn yourself!?"
"I'm wearing gloves, so it's fine. Now then…"
Dusk captured me.
"Shall we have a practical lesson?"
"……I have a bad feeling about this."
"What a shame. I only have a good feeling."
One step.
Then another.
She closed the distance steadily, and I instinctively backed away — but this is the fourth-floor balcony. My back hit the railing almost immediately.
"Ah."
"What, already at a dead end?"
"No — wait — hold on—"
"Up we go."
My field of vision swayed. Before I knew it, I was airborne. Stay Gold was holding me, cradling me like a sack of rice.
"What are you doing!?"
"After such a passionate signal, it would be boorish not to respond."
"What does that MEAN!?"
Chuckling softly, she turned toward the room behind us.
"I'll teach you that gently too."
— Right there on your bed, shall we?
The murmur of late night. My shriek — one complaint-worthy noise — was swept up by the quiet night breeze and vanished like smoke into the sky.
And the balcony window slid quietly shut.