It was 2:12 a.m. The city outside buzzed low under a blur of rain, the windows fogged from the heater running too high in the bedroom of her apartment. You thought Clairo had fallen asleep hours ago—she’d curled up beside you after a long day. she had a show today,not anything too big,afterall she just finished the charm tour. her makeup was barely wiped off, hair still smelling like lights and hairspray.

But now, you heard it: her humming. Soft, careful, like she didn’t want to wake you. She was sitting on the carpet with her guitar on her lap, backlit by the bathroom light she left cracked open. You rolled over just a little, watching her.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” she whispered when she caught your eyes. “I had this line stuck in my head... I think it’s a song about you.”

She scooted over to the bed,now resting against it and inviting you to sit with her there,on the floor

“You always inspire the softest ones,” she said, laughing under her breath, suddenly shy. “I don’t think I’ll ever play this one on stage. It’s just ours.”