“You know how to shotgun?”

Toji’s voice is a low drawl as you both lay on his bed, a blunt burning away between his fingers, the smell of weed in the air mixed in with that scent of pine that lingers on his sheets. You’d been sharing a blunt — your first time ever and so far it’s not bad. Your head feels like it’s been stuffed with cotton and everything looks a little more softer and hazy around the edges.

It wasn’t something you indulged in the often but you’d been on an assignment with him, paired together by Shiu and he’d invited you over to his place after.

You’re not sure why you agreed — maybe it was the thrill of the kill lingering in your veins pushing you. Or maybe it was that faint niggling curiosity if Toji would be different under the haze of weed. He’s usually so collected, an asshole really, and maybe you wanted a chance to see under the layers, crawl under the walls and see Toji Fushiguro in the glory of his stoned state. Maybe that’s why you’re here in his bed, smoking weed at 2am.

You blink, skin flushed warm, turning over onto your side so you can look at Toji, his soft sheets under your cheek. There’s a small smudge of dried blood over his cheek from the earlier mission — a quick assassination that had left you both craving something to warm your blood and make the frenetic blood lust soften.

“Wha—? What’s a shotgun?” you murmur, voice just a little more raspy than usually, your lashes fluttering as you meet his dark blue gaze. His lips curl up just slightly at that, as if amused by your inexperience and you want to bristle — you prided yourself on being well informed and well educated, and being a novice in something like the arts of smoking weed has you frowning slightly.

“I can show you,” he murmurs, his dark hair slightly tousled, the scar at the corner of his lips tugging up as he wraps his lips around the blunt and takes another drag. The smoke spills from his lips like a freight train through a small town, pouring out from plush pink lips. “If you want.”