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When Hari finds her, she’s hidden around the back of some building, sitting against the wall, eyes shut. She looks— tired. Hari can’t blame her. They’re all exhausted. Even though she hasn’t seen much of the other kids, she'll bet they're in a similar state. She wishes she could do something, anything, for them but she can’t bring herself to face her brother’s classmates without it all rushing back to the forefront of her mind. Distraction is survival, here. Grief is not a luxury she can afford.
But it’s not all bad.
Hari sits down beside Mijin and nudges her. “Hey.”
Mijin opens her eyes and turns her head. She brightens a little when she registers Hari. “Hey,” she replies and rests her head on Hari’s shoulder. They can do this now, be with each other like this. Hari doesn't think she's ever felt so comfortable with another person. It scares her a little.
“You okay?” Mijin asks after they settle.
Hari frowns. “Yes. Why?”
“You're doing that face again. The constipated one.”
“Rude,” Hari mutters. “I do not have a constipated face—”
"Yes, you do."
"—Anyway," Hari glares pointedly, "guess what I found.”
“Hmm,” Mijin taps a finger to her chin. “I don’t know, a sense of humour?”
“Asshole,” Hari jostles her but she can’t suppress her grin. She produces a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from her pocket. They’re both a nondescript military grey. Everything in the quarantine camp is a shade of grey: the food, the sky, the people. It’s nauseating at times but Hari has learnt to stomach it. At least it’s better than all that blood, slick and crimson. “And here I was being a good friend by smuggling you these.”
“Holy shit,” Mijin says as she sits up and takes them, a little reverent. She stares at Hari. “How did you—? They wouldn’t let me have any.”
“I have my ways,” Hari replies with a smile as Mijin lights up. It’s all familiar to Hari, even if she’s never smoked herself. The distinct snick of the lighter; the end of the cigarette smouldering, bright orange, like a star against all the grey; the acrid smell of smoke flooding her nostrils. It’s ritualistic, almost.
“Fuck, that’s good,” Mijin says as she shuts her eyes and exhales, the smoke streaming out of her mouth. In a certain context, Hari might even think it was pretty. It dances, almost, billowing and diffusing into the air. “Thanks, Hari.”
“You’re welcome.” Hari watches the smoke curl out from Mijin’s lips, watches how her fingers handle the cigarette with practised ease, quick and efficient with every movement.
“You want one?” Mijin asks, raising an eyebrow.
“I don’t smoke.”
“I know you don’t. But you’re staring at me like you want to.”
Hari blanches. “That’s— I don’t—”
Mijin laughs. “Relax, I won’t tell anyone. Who would’ve thought Hyosan High’s top athlete is a secret druggie,” she says conspiratorially.
“Not funny.”
“A little funny,” Mijin insists as she taps the ash off the end of her cigarette. A pause. “But do you want to try it?”
“I don’t know,” Hari says quietly. Then, the words falling out of her mouth unthinkingly, “I think so. But I’ve never done it before though.”
“Shit, really? I’d never give you something this cheap for your first time.” Mijin stares balefully at the cigarettes and Hari bites back a smile. Not for the first time, she wonders why they had never spoken in school.
“It’s fine,” Hari says. “I don’t mind. I won’t even be able to tell.”
“That’s true. Okay, this is gonna burn, probably.” Mijin brings the cigarette to Hari’s mouth and slots it between her lips, her fingers warm and gentle, despite their callouses.
Hari inhales and immediately sputters, the smoke coming out of her mouth in coughs. Mijin pulls the cigarette away from her mouth with a laugh. “Are you kidding?” Hari says, her throat on fire as she waves away the smoke in front of her. “How do people like this shit?”
“It just takes practice.” Mijin rubs her back soothingly. “You’re an athlete, you should know all about that.”
“Archery and smoking are completely different,” Hari mutters after she clears her throat.
“Yeah, smoking’s miles easier. Fuck, my fingers are still sore from that time you tried to teach me.”
“You’re dramatic,” Hari says, but she smiles at the memory. The soldiers took all of Hari’s archery gear when they arrived at the camp and she itches to have something to do with her hands again.
“Let’s try something else then,” Mijin says, breaking through her thoughts. “Do you trust me?”
Hari nods, wiping her mouth with her sleeve. Mijin smiles. “Don’t freak out, okay? Open your mouth a little.” As an afterthought: “And close your eyes.”
Hari does as she’s told and feels a hand on the side of her neck, pulling her forward and then the unmistakable plush of lips against her own, featherlight but persistent. Hari gasps a little but Mijin is gentle as she coaxes her mouth open further and the smoke floods her mouth, thick and hot.
“Breathe, Hari,” Mijin murmurs against her lips. She strokes Hari’s jaw with her thumb. “You have to breathe.”
Hari inhales from her chest, tries not to cough, tries to make this last. The smoke sears her throat as it goes down but it doesn’t taste as bad from between Mijin’s lips. It’s almost— nice.
Mijin pulls away and Hari opens her eyes, a little dazed, from the nicotine and the touch. She releases the smoke from her lungs with a sigh and watches as Mijin finishes off the cigarette and flicks the butt away. Hari follows the arc of it, sees it burn out on the concrete. The death of a star.
“Was that better?” Mijin asks, her head resting back on the wall. She’s looking at Hari with the strangest expression, curiosity and— and something else.
“Yes,” Hari replies, a little breathless. She brings a hand to her mouth. If she looked at herself in the mirror of Mijin’s eyes, she thinks she would see that same something else etched into her face. “Can we do it again?”
Mijin looks at her, surprised, gaze lingering on her lips before snapping back to her eyes. “Well,” she says. “I guess we’ll make a rebel out of you yet. You really liked it?”
“I would’ve liked it more without the smoke,” Hari admits, heart hammering in her chest. Her lungs feel on fire, and it isn’t smoke, it isn't tobacco.
Mijin blinks at her. Then, a smile forces its way onto her face. “Without the smoke?” she asks, voice goading.
“Yes,” Hari replies, leaning in. They’re almost nose to nose now and Hari can see the pink dusting Mijin’s cheeks. “Is that okay?”
“Yes,” Mijin replies, her voice a whisper, her smugness falling away. “That’s okay.”
When they meet in the middle, Hari feels something unfurl in her chest, warmer than cigarette smoke, sweeter than Mijin’s lips. Something she can’t name yet. And nothing is promised in this world, but she hopes she’ll have the time to figure it out.
But that’s later. For now, Hari pulls Mijin closer and breathes her in.