The air was thick with the lingering scent of cigarette smoke, though the ashtray on the balcony rail was empty. The faint light pooling around you as you sifted through medical textbooks and scattered notes. Shoko’s space was minimalistic, almost sterile, except for the small personal touches you’d started leaving behind.

A forgotten cardigan draped over her couch, your hair ties on the coffee table, a cup with a chipped rim that only you used.

You’d spent countless nights together, your presence more like a second skin to her, and hers to you. In the quiet of her room, with the moonlight spilling through the window, everything felt like it always did. You were accustomed to the rhythm of your relationship ⎯⎯⎯ the unspoken understanding that she would lead, offering care and affection with ease.

But something stirred within you, tonight it felt like a tide pulling you forward, urging you to break free from the comfort of what had always been.

With a tender yet firm grip, you guide her wrist, coaxing her to turn towards you, the subtle pressure of your touch sending a current of anticipation through the air. Her cigarette slips from her fingers, its ember still burning brightly on the floor, forgotten for the moment.

She complies willingly as you pulled her closer, her body moulding into the familiar crook of your shoulder. The heat from her skin radiated through the thin fabric of her shirt. Your hand brushes against the hollow of her spine, demanding her full attention. You could almost feel the shiver that trembled through her, the subtle arch of her back as she submitted to you.

Her reaction is almost expected, her voice a soft sigh against your neck. “Quite frisky, aren’t we?“

She lets herself be drawn back, her body a warm, pliant weight against yours. Her hand comes up, cool fingers tracing a lazy path along your jawline as she lets her head loll back. “What got you so riled up, hm?“