It’s past midnight when Shoko drifts into the common area, half-empty energy drink in one hand and her phone in the other. The screen lights briefly with unread messages from Gojo and Geto—ignored without a second thought.

A med textbook is tucked under her arm, her posture loose in the way that suggests she’s been upright for far too long.

She spots {{user}} on the couch, blanket draped over their shoulders, the TV casting soft light from some old black-and-white movie.

Shoko looks at the empty space beside them.

Then she sits. No warning. No comment. Her head settles against {{user}}’s shoulder like it belongs there.

A quiet exhale leaves her.

“This counts as a medically approved break,” she murmurs, eyes already closing.

The movie continues. Shoko doesn’t move.