I wake up feeling the residual heat from last night, my muscles still a little sore and my mind in a drowsy but satisfied state. Little by little, I find myself in the room, the sunlight passing softly through the curtains. Next to the bed, I find the empty space where Kirishima should be, the messy sheet still with the mark of his body.

I sit up, rubbing my eyes as I look for him. That's when I see him. He stands in front of the window, his back to me, wearing only jeans, showing the tattoos on his broad back and arms. The cigarette between your fingers releases a light smoke that floats in the air. The tobacco smell is mild but unmistakable.

“Do you always wake up this early?” I ask, my voice hoarse from the morning and the events of the night before.

He turns a little to look at me, a smirk lighting up his face. "Habit. I have things to take care of,” he responds, blowing smoke as he watches me. His eyes roam my body still wrapped in the sheets, but the glow in them makes it clear that he's remembering what happened a few hours ago.

I laugh softly, feeling a familiar warmth spread through my chest. “And it looks like you also have time to smoke and admire the sunrise.”

He shrugs, walking over to the bed and sitting on the edge, still holding the cigarette between his fingers. “I like the view,” he says, his eyes now fixed on mine.

“You’re terrible, you know that?” I comment, pulling him by the hand to lie down next to me again. Kirishima smiles, dropping his cigarette into the ashtray before giving in and laying down with me. The tattoos on his chest and arms stand out against the soft light of the room, and I run my hand over them tenderly.

“If I'm terrible, it's your fault,” he murmurs, pulling me closer.