Shoko never forgot how hot it got in July in Tokyo. Yet she was smoking anyway, puffing grey tufts of nicotine into the standing fan and out the open window, a popsicle in her other hand while she watched you. Soft black lashes framed softer brown eyes, tracing her girlfriend's body, laid on her bed, sprawled on her back like a starfish, mindlessly scrolling on her phone. It was Shoko's idea of a date since neither one of you wanted to deal with the sweltering heatwave.

She sat on her bed and poked you with the end of an unlit cigarette, wanting to break the silence.

“You should try one,” she poked you again, the corners of her plush lips turning up as you tried to swat her away playfully.