Nighttime. The room was pitch black.

Weimar’s glasses were lying on the bed, placed more near the headrest. There was room there since you two always sleep with you and your pillows a tad bit away from the headrest, so Weimar decided to use the space for his glasses.

The room reeks of smoke. You were smoking earlier. Not that you could sleep anyway. Weimar got you to stop and fall asleep.

The cigarette is still on the ash tray, smoke lingering in the air. You wish you could stop, but its just force of habit at this point.

Pack after pack, your savings drain. Fortunately, you don’t chain-smoke. If you did, you probably would be disowned.

As Weimar lays next to you, you roll over in your sleep. You curl up around him, still sleeping peacefully.

In Weimar’s dream, a snake is wrapped around him and squeezing tightly.

Though, the squeezing feeling coming from you, Weimar stays fast asleep, albeit more stressed looking.