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The night air was cold, spreading, the kind that wanted to crawl into your bones. And the sky was littered with many stars like fuzzy vision after a dizzying blow to the head, a more permanent version of what you only get a glimpse of usually, but it’s gorgeous nonetheless. The darkness encompassed everything, making most colors come off as pretty shades of purple and blue.
Each was something that should have gripped Spirou at that moment, but instead something more warm spread through his body, the smoke of the pipe keeping him in his light daze, and there was a man dressed in a pretty shade of blue sitting next to him.
Although he was actually cold too, the fault of that draft coming in from the rolled down driver seat window. Meant for ventilation in the small parked car, but the heady tobacco smoke remained regardless. Not that the blonde noticed.
Maybe it was weird, to be watching him in silence for so long. But who could fault him really? The steady rise and fall of the driver's chest and the plume of smoke that periodically left his lips belonged in a baroque painting. And watching him watch the stars seemed much better than looking at the sky himself.
Alright, he was weird. Borderline creepy, possibly. If only Fantasio knew what even witnessing a casual smoke break stirred inside the bellhop. He even found himself wracked with jealousy, an odd irrational jealousy for his friend's pipe. This human form cursed him to never be able to know how it feels to be tenderly stuffed with tobacco, placed between the journalists lips, and allowed to fill his lungs with an air heavy and intoxicating. The blonde carried that pipe with him everywhere, much like how the redhead traveled wherever he went. Sometimes he wished he were small enough to fit in his pocket too, treasured and held to such regard.
If I died right now, just let me reincarnate as that pipe.
At some point, watching becomes staring. And Spirou was most definitely staring at Fantasio, an act that didn't go unnoticed. That was creepy, so creepy, staring at him with no words to cushion it. But his friend didn't seem to share those negative sentiments. He only held out his coveted smoking pipe to his dear friend.
The redhead was not a smoker, quite honestly he didn't like the smoke at all (just that it looked rather pretty coming from his Fantasio’s lips). Yet he accepted the apparatus and attempted to take a drag.
He wasn't a smoker, so he coughed whatever he inhaled right back up. Rather amusing to the other man, and he took the pipe back. Spirou, for just a second, couldn't help but feel like he missed an opportunity.
“Sorry, Fantasio…”
“It’s fine, I know a trick.” He waved his hand dismissively before gingerly holding the ginger's chin and leaning in closer. “Open your mouth.”
Spirou obeyed, and was thoroughly surprised. Fantasio took another drag from his pipe and exhaled directly into the bellhop's open mouth.
It was strange, yes, to have your friend breathe into your mouth. But Spirou didn't care, and let him continue to shotgun tobacco smoke to him. For just tonight (although he wished this could happen again), Fantasio was his pipe.
The men slid closer together as this continued, now both were sharing more than smoke but the air itself. Two pairs of half-lidded eyes got lost in each other, filled with a longing that spoke more than a thousand words. As if drawn in by the spirits of the night, their lips met as well.
Maybe it was a weird thing, to be jealous of an inanimate object. But you can't control what the heart wants, and this was the closest he would ever get to knowing how it felt.