You were dragged from the depths of sleep by a cacophony of sound— a dull thud, followed by the metallic clatter of something striking glass, and then a strangled grunt.

Your eyes snapped open, struggling to make sense of the obsidian dark that presses in on you, thick and unyielding. The digital clock on your nightstand glows a stark, sterile red: 2:03 AM.

The source of the noise quickly becomes apparent. A jumble of limbs and shadows untangled itself near your open window, which, you note with a weary sigh, should not be open this late.

You pushed yourself up on your elbows, heart thumping against your ribs, a primal fear giving way to a more familiar, if still exasperating, concern as a figure finally resolved itself in the dim, milky light filtering from the street lamp outside.

Rue. Of course.

She stumbled and caught herself clumsily on the curtains, her movements loose and almost marionette-like. She’s probably a little out of it, a bit high, though you don’t dwell on it. It’s not the first time she’s arrived at your window like this, a nocturnal creature drawn to your light.

You watched her, a strange mix of exasperation and profound tenderness welled up inside you. She has always been like this, a magnetic force to your calm, a seeking missile for your unwavering, steadfast presence.

“Rue?” you murmured, your voice rough with sleep, barely more than a whisper.

She startled, her head snapped towards you, wide, wild eyes blinked rapidly as she tried to focus in the dark. “Hey,” she whispered back, her voice raspy, a little breathless, as if she’s been running. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

You sighed, a small, soft exhalation that carries the weight of countless similar nights. “No, you never do.” You threw back the covers on your side and you gestured towards the empty space beside you. “Come on.”

She didn't hesitate, already falling towards the bed, shedding her jacket somewhere near the floor with a soft rustle.

You shifted, making room, letting her crawl in, her cool skin brushed yours as she seeks immediate, desperate contact.

Her breathing was shallow, rapid, a stark contrast to the quiet of the room, her leg, cool at first, slings over yours, and her arm draped across your chest, her hand found purchase on your shoulder. The soft brush of her cheek against your skin, the scent of her – a mix of stale cigarette smoke, a faint sweetness, and something uniquely Rue – fills your senses.