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“Reimuuuu? You there?"
Marisa knocks on the door to Reimu’s apartment again, then once more. Still no response.
She knows she’s not early—it’s about 15 minutes past the time she agreed to visit Reimu’s apartment for an afternoon movie marathon. It was their sacred little tradition every now and then, when life was either dull and motionless or when it was closing in on them like a thick glass wall. Right now was the former, and they’d both been itching to do something together that didn’t involve taking any non-existent money out of their wallets.
After a few more seconds of tapping her foot, she decides to turn the doorknob, because maybe ever-so-prudent Reimu was dumb enough to leave it unlocked this time. And to her surprise, her joke of a guess was correct. The doorknob turned with ease, and she cautiously entered the apartment.
Both the living room and kitchen lights were off, the only light source being the sun coming through the window. And there's the faint smell of something... smoky around the apartment. Her mind goes straight to thinking of all the possible worst-case scenarios involving intruders and kidnappers and whatnot. But when her ear catches the sound of muffled rock music coming from the bedroom, she breathes a sigh of relief and walks to the door.
She stops once she's in front of the door. That smell. It's strongest coming from the bedroom. She thinks that maybe Reimu burnt her food while cooking or something, but it doesn't smell like anything that she knows Reimu would eat. Confused, she opens the door without knocking, like she’s the very intruder she was so worried about just a minute ago.
"Hey, what's tha..."
Marisa’s mouth falls open.
Reimu is sitting cross-legged on her bed, red-eyed and in a daze, smoking what was most likely (definitely) weed. The entire room was clouded, like she'd already been hotboxing herself for an hour and never checked the clock once to see if Marisa was coming. It’s safe to say that she’d completely forgotten about their movie marathon, too lost in the haze to even think about any other plans for the day.
Marisa stands there baffled, bamboozled, every synonym in the thesaurus for shocked. Never in her life did she imagine Reimu smoking, but after thinking for a moment longer, it made sense that she’d be the type of person to smoke her stress away. Just not with… illegal drugs. Something like convenience-store-bought nicotine, like a normal, mostly sensible human being. Maybe Reimu isn’t as normal or sensible as she initially thought.
At the sight of a wide-eyed Marisa, Reimu chokes mid-puff and scrambles to stop the music.
"Marisa?! The fuck are you doing here? How'd you get in?" In a panic, she slides the window open with a bang and poorly attempts to fan the smoke out with her hands. She manages to fan out about 5% of the smoke that was floating around in the room. For her own sake, she pretends that it’s effective enough to hide the fact that she’s been doing this far longer than she intended to.
"Um, your door was unlocked," Marisa says meekly, pursing her lips inward at the rare sight of a frenzied Reimu.
"Doorbells exist. I have one,” Reimu grumbles through gritted teeth.
"Oh. Right."
Reimu sighs in frustration, sitting back down on her bed defeated. "Well, you already caught me. Whatever. I trust you enough to not tell anyone."
"I won't. 'Course not."
"Okay. Good."
A quick stretch of awkward silence follows. Marisa stares at the joint in Reimu's hand, smoke slowly rising out at the end. Her eyes follow it like she’s one of those snakes being hypnotized by the movements of a flute. Then a very, very bad lightbulb pops up in her head.
Sometimes—well, all the time—Marisa thinks too little before she speaks. This is one of those many times where her soul is too powerful to contain its impulses in a box, and her mouth opens before her brain can fully process what the concept of consequences even is.
"Can I try?" She asks, as naive as a child.
Reimu shoots her a glare. "Like, the pot? Are you insane?"
"Yes and maybe yes."
"No, you can't." Reimu is now reminiscent of a stern father trying to enforce discipline.
"Come on, why can you do it but I can't try even once? We’re both grown-ups here!" Marisa protests.
"’Cause it’s bad for you, and I am not giving in to your impulses this time." Reimu shakes her head. “Can’t we just do our movie marathon like we originally planned?”
Marisa pouts her lips and thinks. Strategizes like a chess player. Then lands on the perfect move in record time.
"If you let me, I’ll help you pay for that coffee maker you really wanted?"
“Wh— you’re broke,” Reimu scoffs. “That’s not even possible.”
Marisa holds up an envelope of money from her bag. Too much money to give to someone as compulsive as Marisa Kirisame, known impulsive shopper and constant victim of buyer’s regret. “Birthday money from my grandma.”
Reimu’s jaw goes slack. Of course it was from Marisa’s too-generous-for-her-own-good grandma.
“I think you might be worse off than me if you’re doing this just for some weed.”
Marisa just grins and shrugs. “It can count as an early Christmas present for both of us!”
Reimu bites her lip. She has been vying for that automatic coffee maker for months. Unfortunately, she’s still human, and an offer that good is too challenging to resist. Marisa has known her for far too long and knows everything about how to bring her defenses down. Reimu is now on the losing side of the war here (when it comes to Marisa, she almost always is), and she’s too broke and depressed to want to give up a lifetime of good coffee in the morning. In the end, she convinces herself that she’s just being prudent in a different, alternative way.
"Ugh, fine! Just this once." Reimu throws her arms up and scooches over, leaving space for Marisa to sit beside her on the bed. "I’m only doing this for that coffee maker. If you ever ask for more, I’m socking you in the face."
Marisa beams, shutting the bedroom door and taking a seat beside Reimu. She vibrates like a kid who’s about to get a present, studying how Reimu rolls up another joint and lights it with her neon-red lighter. She passes it over to Marisa, who twiddles it in her fingers and realizes she has no clue how to do a “hit,” or whatever you’re supposed to call it.
"Um, how do I...?" Her eyes dart to Reimu, whose eyebrows are still partially knit together.
"Okay, just hold it like this, then put it up to your lips," Reimu instructs, and Marisa follows her motions. "Good. Now just suck in gently, wait a second, then exhale. Don't suck in too much smoke, though."
And of course, like any first-time smoker who’s way too eager about the sickness they’re putting in their lungs, she sucks in too hard and proceeds to cough and hack. Reimu laughs and pats her back, comparing Marisa to a baby deer learning how to walk. Marisa pretends like she’s not embarrassed about being bad at something she just started doing, even if that something was smoking pot.
"So, um,” Marisa clears her throat and rubs away the tears in her eyes, “when does that 'buzz' or whatever kick in?"
Reimu chuckles and shrugs, "Just do a few more and don’t think about it too much.”
Marisa takes her second hit, underwhelmed and not expecting much anymore. Maybe all this marijuana stuff just isn’t as good as everyone cracks it up to be. It probably isn’t worth using her birthday money to help Reimu pay for that fancy coffee maker she wanted so bad, but a deal’s a deal, and she’ll always stick to her word for Reimu.
Buyer’s regret then strikes her chest. Might as well just smoke it away. She doubts that the weed will have any effect on her anyway.
Marisa giggles uncontrollably, because now everything around her seems to be the absolute peak of comedy.
A bird pooped on Reimu’s window sill 15 minutes ago, and she was practically dry heaving by the end of it. Reimu was not as amused. Then, she made out the shape of a penis in the clouds 5 minutes later and could’ve formed a six-pack from how hard she was laughing. Reimu was slightly more amused that time.
"My god, you good?"
Marisa begins to fall back onto the bed, the world around her spinning, and her limbs feeling too heavy for her body. "Dunno. Maybe. Yeah."
Before Marisa’s joint hits the bed, Reimu uses what’s left of her reflexes to reach out and grab her hand right before it hits the sheets. She can barely afford her rent, let alone the expenses to fix up a burnt-down apartment and the hospital bill when both of them get caught in the fire. That would be one hell of a headline: “Two young women accidentally set apartment on fire due to marijuana use,” but Reimu isn’t willing to be humiliated on the news like that either. She lies down beside Marisa, taking in another hit while still holding up her hand.
"I feel kinda funny," Marisa says, delirious.
"Yeah, weed does that to you."
"Wow. I think I like this," she looks to Reimu and grins. "You're really my best friend."
Reimu laughs and glances at Marisa. Her smile is sort of crooked and teethy and her pupils are dilated. The sun shining on her face emphasizes her tiny freckles. She can see the snaggletooth that she never got fixed up because she never got braces. It's one of Marisa’s many insecurities about herself, but Reimu likes it. She thinks it’s cute. It is cute.
"You too, Marisa. You too."
The late afternoon sunlight beaming through the open window is caught in Reimu's hair. A few strands are sticking out and glowing in the light. It makes Marisa want to touch it. So she does, gently combing through her hair with her fingers. Reimu doesn't seem to mind. She closes her eyes and exhales out, relaxing into her touch like a cat being stroked on the head. Her lips curl up into a small, content smile.
The clock in the room is ticking, and Marisa can hear the seconds as they pass by.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
It goes on and on. The clock is so loud, she kind of wants to shut it up.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
She takes a peek at the window and notices the sun going down. It makes her wonder how long she's been here, smoking like there's no tomorrow, and she wonders if Reimu smoked this much her first time too, or if she was disciplined like she always is. Thoughts come and go, in and out, like the smoke in her lungs.
Her vision is fuzzy, but she swears she can see stars glimmering on the ceiling. She giggles again because she doesn’t have the mind to know if she’s imagining it or not. It was nice to keep giggling, like she was giggling her very existence away.
"What'cha laughing at this time? Did a bird shit on my window sill again?" Reimu asks.
"Reimu. There are stars on your ceiling."
"Really, now."
"Uh-huh. They're pretty."
"How pretty?"
"Um, not as pretty as the real thing. The real thing is, like, a hundred times prettier," Marisa says, outstretching her arms to the ceiling as if trying to touch the non-existent stars. She wants to start spewing out all of the fun astronomy facts that she’s learned during her classes, but her mind has clouded up enough to the point where she doesn’t even know how to ramble anymore. Quite the achievement.
"Mmm... kinda like you," Reimu mumbles out, barely coherent, but coherent enough for even Marisa’s dulled senses.
"Huh?" Marisa’s head snaps around.
Reimu fails to hold back the big grin on her face when Marisa looks at her with the eyes of a bunny rabbit. So cute.
"You're like the stars, Marisa. They're pretty. And bright. Like you." She throws her arm over her face and laughs at her uncharacteristic sincerity. "Ahh, I'm so fucking high. Fuck."
Marisa sucks in the smoke for a moment too long and ends up coughing it out like earlier. She twiddles the joint in between her fingers. As high as she is right now, the buzz isn't enough to protect her from being flustered.
If Reimu was on the losing side of a war earlier, well, now Marisa is. And she’s not entirely sure what to do with their mess of figurative chess pieces anymore.
"You mean it?"
"If I didn't, I wouldn't say it."
Marisa looks over to Reimu, watching her expression. "You really think I'm... pretty?" She asks again, incredulous.
"Well, yeah," Reimu shrugs. "Who wouldn't, really," she says, her face unchanging, as if it's the most casual thing in the world. But everything that is casual to Reimu is all-consuming to Marisa.
She doesn’t get called pretty all that often; rather, people prefer to use different adjectives for her: compulsive, reckless, a hyperactive dog on caffeine—and she carries them all with pride. “Pretty” was at the very bottom of the list, and to hear Reimu of all people say it sets something ablaze in her chest—something that Marisa has been running away from for all this time. And maybe now, she can finally quit running and rest her legs for a little while.
"Prove that you mean it," she lightly tugs on the sleeve of Reimu's hoodie.
"And how am I supposed to do that?" Reimu tilts her head.
"Well," Marisa pauses. It makes it look like she’s thinking before she speaks for once, but what she says next would tell anyone that there are no thoughts inside that head of hers right now.
"You can kiss me, or something."
It comes out in a soft, shy whisper, and a blush finds itself dyeing Marisa’s face pink. Reimu's smile falters. Marisa can’t read her expression; she’s too high for that. Shit, did she mess up?
"I guess you're pretty high too, huh."
Marisa doesn't respond. She stares silently at Reimu, and Reimu stares back, her glance shifting to Marisa's eyes, then her lips, then her eyes again. They look at one another, internally crumbling under the anticipation of the other making the first move.
All of a sudden, Marisa is hyper-aware of the warm sunlight shining directly on them, and now the room feels hotter than it already did before. She pinches the blanket underneath in between her pointer finger and thumb, fidgeting with the loose wool. The haze in the room grows still, like the world is, too, waiting for one of them to make their long-awaited move.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
Reimu turns her body toward Marisa, placing her hand on her cheek. Her face inches closer, and closer, and closer. Marisa's breath hitches, and she grips the end of her own shirt as tight as she possibly can. The outside sounds of cars and barking dogs fade to silence. The smoke in the air is swirling. Reimu’s touch is somewhat clammy yet soothing. The ticking of the clock is loud, too loud, ringing in Marisa's ears like a siren.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
On the last tick of the clock, Reimu’s lips softly press onto Marisa’s. The dam holding back both of their repressed, unacknowledged feelings over the years has been demolished by the gentlest of kisses.
Marisa can taste a hint of smoke and coffee on her chapped lips. It feels good. For sure, it’s far more intoxicating than what they’ve been putting into their lungs for the past—hour? 2 hours? She’s not even sure anymore. But she’s not sure how to focus on her thoughts when Reimu’s hand has moved down to her waist and the kiss deepens. Marisa’s hands fumble, one beginning to lose grip of her joint and the other finding its way to stroke Reimu’s hair again. Reimu sighs, her body moving on its own, and now fully on top of Marisa. The two of them are like this for a while, unspoken words and feelings conveyed in small yet meaningful touches.
And then because all good things must come to an end, reality unfortunately returns from its temporary leave. Reimu hastily pulls away, because God knows what would’ve happened if she didn’t, and he wasn’t the most pleased with it.
Marisa, dazed, touches her fingers to her lips. She still feels all of the different sensations that were just ripped away from her.
"Shit, sorry, I just—that was too much. Sorry." Reimu pants, pressing her palm to her forehead. Marisa blinks. Then blinks once more.
"No," Marisa says, louder than she intended to, "I liked it. A lot. I really liked it."
Reimu, after scanning Marisa's face for a moment, moves off and lies back down beside her. She takes an awkward hit, letting out tiny coughs of embarrassment. Marisa, too, takes an awkward hit beside her—then coughs as well. Like a mirror.
Reimu breathes in. "You know, I didn't think..."
"What?" Marisa holds her breath.
"I didn't think I would—we would ever... y’know," Reimu says, hesitating over every word.
"I didn't think so either."
Marisa sucks in her cheeks and looks at Reimu. Her breathing has steadied by now, but her face is still flushed. Smoke is still rising out of the joint in her hand, which is dangerously close to setting the sheets on fire. It’s hard for Marisa to care about fire hazards when she just learned that all of their weird tension these past few years did have meaning.
Thousands of questions pop up in her head all at once. She could ask if they were ever “just friends” in the first place. She could ask what their relationship can even be defined as now. But for once, she decides to be prudent like Reimu and save all the complicated questions for later on. They can stress out about that when they’re not high. Instead, she asks a simpler, more thoughtful question:
"Do you regret it?"
"No," Reimu shakes her head. Marisa can make out the subtlest smile on her lips, the pair that she was just kissing earlier, and is content with the short answer she receives. It was enough. More than enough, really.
There was now a comfortable silence shared between them, and the sky was no longer deep red and orange. It is now dyed a bruised purple and dark blue, and it looks like something out of a Renaissance painting. The clock ticks quieter now. Cars honk and dogs bark. Birds fly past the window. The room isn’t so foggy anymore.
Marisa notices another comically shaped cloud and giggles. Reimu seems to have noticed it, too, and giggles along with her, intertwining their hands.
“So are you really gonna help me buy that coffee maker?” Reimu asks, breaking the silence.
“After that? Hell yeah.”
Reimu nods. “I guess I know how to get you to buy me stuff now.”
At that, Reimu receives a smack on the shoulder and a giggle. The impact jostles her hand, and the joint slips from her fingers—doing exactly what she’s been paranoid about this whole time.
It burns the bed.
Just like that, Reimu and Marisa’s highs are gone in an instant, and they find themselves frantically smacking the small yet feisty flame with a pillow. Reimu then complains because her good sheets are now ruined by an ugly black splotch. Marisa apologizes with bit-back laughter.
At least they don’t set off any smoke alarms.