They meet for the first time in the alley behind the restaurant, a man and a woman, both dressed formally. She wears her dress in clean lines, necklace and heels elegant; her mood is plainly seen by the brilliance of her smile and the bright sparkle in her eyes. A quiet bubble of laughter bursts from her throat before she realizes she isn’t alone, but the stars in her eyes remain in place. By contrast, her new companion is rumpled, monochrome, and ill-fitted. Though his eyes are a bright blue, there’s no joy in them.

Only a few minutes has passed since sundown, the sky bright with orange and red and purple like buckets of paint had been unceremoniously dumped overhead. Even the dim alleyway seems on fire—a perfect place for a meeting if you ignore the rusted dumpsters and dirty brick walls.

The woman offers a cheerful, “Hey, dude,” like she’s all too glad for the company.

As she says the words, she pulls out a lighter and a half-smoked joint from inside her purse, and frees the blunt from its protective covering calmly and confidently. With neutrality boarding on reproach, the man stares at it for a moment, saying nothing, but nods in return.

She seems to sense the distant disapproval and pauses with the joint halfway to her mouth. “You don’t mind, do you?”

His eyes flicker up in surprise and for a moment their eyes meet. It didn’t feel like lightning, but maybe more like a wave crashing into a seashore—less insistent, but still demanding. “No,” he says, tentatively. “I just… Never mind.”

She considers his response for a moment before extending the joint in an offer, instead, to which she receives a shake of the head.

She shrugs, pinching the tip between her lips and lighting it before taking a few determined puffs. She takes one long drag and studies the man contemplatively, curiosity flickering in her eyes. She exhales.

“You here for the wedding?”

He shakes his head before he says, “The wake.”

“Oh.” She swallows thickly and says, “Someone you knew well?”

“Not really.” He scuffs at the ground with the toe of his shoe. “My dad.”

She winces. “S***, man, I’m sorry.” Realizing the insensitivity of the statement, she adds, “I lost my dad a few years back… I didn’t know him very well, either, but I don’t think it’s any easier whether you know them well or not, honestly.”

“Thank you,” comes the reply, words thick on his tongue. “It’s been… unexpectedly difficult, yes. I thought I’d care a lot less when the day finally came, to be honest.”

The woman laughs sarcastically. “Isn’t that always the case?”

A few moments of silence pass between them before he nods towards the restaurant and changes the subject: “Is the wedding yours?”

She snorts. She’s got a laugh of someone used to finding humour in strange places, he thinks, because he doesn’t really get what’s so funny.

“Hell no. It’s my brother’s… The bastard’s finally found himself someone willing to put up with all his s***.” The words were strong, but the smile on her face reveals she says them fondly. “It’s a small reception, but it’s been the most fun I’ve had in a while. I’m thrilled for him.”

“Then why are you out here smoking pot instead of inside with your family?”

She pauses, then grunts in acknowledgement, taking another drag from her joint. “It’s been just us two for so long, y’know? I feel like it was just yesterday when he was tucking me into bed and doing a s*** job at trying to convince me there weren’t any monsters under my bed…” She lets her head fall back against the brick wall and watches the stars overhead. “I know he’ll have a happy life with her, but it’s bittersweet, you know? Thought I’d take the edge off… especially since I might never be able to get married here at all.”

“Why not?”

Her lips curl up in disdain. “Fucking same-sex marriage laws, man. Not saying that I’ll necessarily end up with a chick, but who knows? Maybe a husband and 2.5 kids aren’t in the cards for me. Maybe they are. Kind of sucks I don’t really get much of a say in the matter, though.”

Understanding softens his face—even the strong lines of his jaw giving an appearance of gentleness. “It’s alright… You’re closer to interpreting the reason for my estrangement from my father than you think.” He shakes his head to himself. “He kicked my younger brother out and I… disagreed. So, I went with him.”

The quiet admission between the two of them fills the silence with something easy and calm. This acknowledgement that they both exist on the fringes of their own worlds is more unifying than the two trying to hide from their respective families in the dark.

“You sure you don’t want some?” She asks. “Sounds like you need it more than I do.”

A couple moments pass before he admits, “I’m not too sure. I’ve never smoked anything in my life.”

“Really?”

He nods and blushes, hand coming to rub the back of his neck awkwardly. “I appreciate the offer, but I don’t know how acceptable it’d be to cough up a lung in my father’s funeral.”

She squints her eyes exaggeratedly in response, letting out a long, pondering hum, and he immediately feels a bit apprehensive. “I could shotgun you, if you want,” she finally suggests. “Might not get you too high but you won’t choke to death.” As soon as the words leave her mouth and she sees the puzzled look in his eyes, her eyes widen a little and she gives a low whistle, shaking her head. She holds up a hand in apology and coughs awkwardly. “S***—sorry, dude. I must be higher than I thought, or something. Didn’t mean to go there.”

Despite the frown curving his lips, he didn’t look disgusted or offended, only confused. “Shotgunning is… what, precisely?” She gives him a slightly incredulous look, and he makes a soft, defensive sound. “Sorry if I’m not incredibly well-versed in drug use.”

She snorts. “I’m not exactly Snoop Dogg, either,” she says, deadpanning. “… S***, this is gonna sound really creepy when I explain it to a total stranger.” She brings the joint to her lips and lets the smoke out in an exasperated huff. “Shotgunning’s when you inhale smoke out of someone else’s mouth. It’s smoother, y’know? Not as potent. You might not even get much of a buzz.”

He watches her seriously for a moment before cracking a smile, not being able to stop himself from chuckling somewhat affectionately. “You were right. That does sound pretty creepy coming from a total stranger.” She blanches, but he points at the blunt in a way that makes her suspect he doesn’t even know what to call it and says, “Would you mind?”

“Seriously?” she says, blinking.

The man nods again. “I’m really not looking forward to going back in to deal with… any of it…”

For a moment, the woman says nothing. “You know this won’t really change anything with your dad, right?” She asks, voice sounding very much as if she learned that the hard way.

“I know.” He smiles gratefully. “But I don’t think it would hurt, at this point.”

She looks at him with a hint of a smile which he believes might either be approving or quietly melancholic. “Well, if you’re sure. I don’t mind.”

The man takes on a serious look, as if he were going to war, and straightens his shoulders in front of her. “What do I do?”

She holds up the joint for him to see. “I’ll take a drag, and I’ll tell you when to come closer to inhale out of my mouth. Then, you hold it in for as long as you can before exhaling. Maybe count to ten or something.”

He nods. “Alright.”

“Alright,” she repeats, smiling. “Ready?”

He hesitates for only a second before nodding.

Just like before, the woman puts the blunt between her lips and pulls the smoke into her mouth steadily, eyes fluttering shut in concentration. A few seconds go by as she withdraws the blunt, careful to keep the smoke within her hollowed-out cheeks. Her eyes open back up and she nods at him to approach, laying a gentle hand against his neck as she moves to meet him halfway.

The meeting of mouths was tender, feeling as careful and tentative as a first kiss. The smooth flood of smoke into his mouth almost startles him even in his half-anticipatory state, brows furrowing as he experiences the taste of earth and herbs for the first time. His tongue flickers into it instinctively, accidentally catching the woman’s bottom lip before she withdraws.

“Now hold it in,” she instructs. He does. His fingers begin a metronome count against his leg, intending to count to ten, but only making it to seven or eight before he has to let it all out quickly. He coughs once, but she still tells him, “Good,” which fills him with an absurd sense of accomplishment.

“That wasn’t unpleasant,” he acknowledges, eyes locked on hers. “So far it doesn’t feel any different.”

The woman’s thumb strokes softly against his neck and she wets her lips. Up close, her eyes are very, very green—earthy in their own right. “Again?”

The man nods, and the process repeats itself: inhale, hold, kiss, breathe. Their lips catch not-so-accidentally against each other this time, and he pulls deeper, fist balling up in the front of her dress to hold them both steady. They pull apart with a soft sound from her that could mean anything, but he shoots her a look of understanding. He seals his lips shut, steadying the smoke within his lungs as he leans closer into her, remembering the feeling of waves crashing into a seashore.

“This is all kinds of illicit,” the woman comments when they’re inches away from touching noses, and this makes him laugh unexpectedly, the smoke pouring out of him with the sound. The hand he claps over his mouth is clumsier than before.

“What?” she asks, fighting a laugh.

His fingers curl around the sleeve of her dress. “I think it’s working,” he whispers conspiratorially.

She snorts. “Is it?”

“Well it’s not like I’d know…” He says, tongue heavy, eyes blinking up at her slowly. “Can I say something else that’s creepy?” He asks her, voice taking on a smoky sort of sleepiness.

“Only fair.” She smiles.

Uncertainty flickers in his eyes, but it disappears, letting the drug settle around him like a warm, protective blanket. “That was nice,” he says in a whisper, as if keeping it a secret from the world. “I mean… not the smoking part.”

The smile fades a little on her lips, and she swallows thickly. “Very,” she agrees.

His cheeks colour a delighted red, but it seems wrong to maintain it, given how they wound up in the alleyway and what still waits for him beyond that door. The smile fades entirely with reluctance and regret, and she finally lets her hand fall from his neck in heavy silence.

“I’m sorry about your dad, again,” she says, sincerely.

He looks at the hand he still has fisted in her sleeve. “Thank you,” he says, his chest hollow. “I appreciate your sympathy.”

His hand withdraws and they both take a step back from one another. Glancing at the door with disappointment, she says, “We should be getting back in there. Both our families are probably wondering where we ran off to…”

Something about the man’s smile has reverted to its earlier reluctance, but she makes no attempt to change it.

“Maybe I’ll see you in there,” she says.

The man turns away and moves to place a hand on the doorknob, opening it to let the light and the noise from inside the restaurant filter out into the alleyway and the empty space between them. “It was nice meeting you.”

“Likewise,” the woman answers weakly, tipping the joint at him in mock salute. She definitely seems less bittersweet now, but whether more bitter or sweet is a question only she can answer for herself. “See you around.”

He disappears back into the restaurant after one last, inscrutable look, the heavy metal door shutting behind him with a clang. She leans back against the wall, bringing the joint to her lips before realizing that it had already gone out. Darkness had settled over the alleyway completely, but she lingers a while longer. Just in case.