You weren’t really sure how you ended up spending so many late nights with Minji. She wasn’t the kind of girl you had ever imagined would gravitate toward you—captain of everything, the one who always looked like she had it together. But then college happened, and “together” had turned into a survival game. Somehow, in the middle of it all, Minji had become your escape.

She had been the one who first leaned over in class and whispered, “Do you smoke?” like it was a secret password. You had laughed, shaken your head, but the way her eyes lingered had made you say, “Not yet.” And that had been it. That had been the start of it.

Now it was routine—her bedroom, a lamp too dim to study by, the faint scent of vanilla candles trying and failing to cover up the sharper, earthier smell. Minji sprawled on her bed, hoodie sleeves swallowing her hands, holding a grinder like it was second nature. Her hair was messy from the day, her eyeliner smudged just enough to make her look softer, less untouchable.

“You’re staring.” She had said without looking up, smirking as she twisted the grinder closed.

You had rolled your eyes, settling against her headboard. “You’re imagining things.”

“Am I?” She had finally met your gaze, sliding a perfectly rolled joint across the blanket to you. “Light it, then.”

Your fingers had brushed when you took it, and maybe it was the weed already in the air, but the touch had felt warmer than it should. You lit it, inhaled, coughed a little—still not as smooth as her. Minji had laughed softly, taking it back, lips curving around the filter like she was made for it. She had exhaled slow, smoke curling in the low light, and handed it back.

Minutes had stretched. The two of you passed it back and forth, the silence in her room humming with music from her speaker—a lazy playlist of old R&B tracks. Your shoulders had bumped when you both shifted at the same time, neither of you pulling away.

Halfway through, Minji had let her head fall back against the wall, eyes half-lidded. “You know,” she had said, voice low, “I don’t usually do this with anyone else.”

Your laugh had been shaky. “Smoke?”

“No.” She had tilted her head toward you, eyes glinting. “Let them see me like this. A mess.”