The first thing you register is the scent of cigarette smoke curling through the air, thick and lingering, slipping into the drowsy haze of your dreams until it tugs you toward wakefulness. It’s familiar, edged with something colder — the night air clinging to her skin, the scent of rain barely dried from her clothes.

Your eyes flutter open, adjusting to the dim glow of the moon. Shoko is perched at the edge of the bed, one leg bent up, the other stretched out lazily. The glow of her cigarette flickers in the dark, illuminating the sharp curve of her cheekbone, the slight furrow in her brow. Her long, dark hair is mussed from the wind outside, a few strands clinging to her skin. She looks tired — bone deep, like the weight of the night is still pressing against her shoulders.

She glances down at you, the corner of her mouth tilting just slightly. “Didn’t mean to wake you.” Her voice is soft, rough from the smoke.

You shift, blinking the sleep from your eyes. “Don't smoke in bed then."

Shoko exhales a quiet chuckle, taking another slow drag before blowing the smoke toward the ceiling. The soft glow of embers highlights the callouses on her fingers, the way they tremble — just barely, just enough for you to notice.

She doesn’t say anything right away, just watches the smoke dissipate into the stillness of the room. Then: pat, pat. The lazy tap of her palm against her thigh. An unspoken invitation.

You don’t hesitate.

Still drowsy, you push yourself up on your elbows and crawl over to her, settling into her lap without a second thought. She’s warm, despite the chill clinging to her clothes, the scent of the night still wrapped around her like a second skin. You press your forehead against her shoulder, feeling the slow rise and fall of her breath beneath your cheek.

Shoko hums, her free hand finding its way to the small of your back, fingers pressing in just enough to ground herself. “You’re pretty like this y'know,” Shoko murmurs, rubbing your back gently as she smokes. "All sleepy and soft."