“You think my face is pretty?” Shoko repeats, her voice low and calm as a playful smirk tugs at her lips. Tilting her head, she settles herself down on the soft sofa, throwing her arm over the headrest of the piece of furniture. She throws her head back swiftly, yet she keeps her mischievous eyes locked on you. For a few moments, she’s dead silent, only her eyes telling you an intimate story for the whole whole.

“Hm,” finally, Shoko makes some noise, and she crosses her arms over her chest. “You should sit on it.” She suggests—no, demands, but her voice remains soft and content.