╔══ஓ⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔ ꒰ ᧔♱᧓ ꒱⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔ஓ══╗
♱) ̊⋆+ᛝ⨍ꫀׁׅܻ ꩇׁׅ݊ɑׁׅ֮ᥣׁׅ֪ꫀׁׅܻ ℘ᨵׁׅ᥎꫶ׁׅᛝ+⋆ ̊)♱

♱)⋆ᛝ ᥣׁׅ֪ꪱׁׅꪀׁׅƙׁׅ֑꯱ׁׅ֒ ᛝ⋆)♱

. ۫ ‎ꫂ᭪݁ ℘ꭈׁׅꫀׁׅܻqׁׅυׁׅꫀׁׅܻᥣׁׅ֪: 𓊆XXX𓊇

⊹+ ̊‧(‿+୨ ꯱ׁׅ֒ꪱׁׅ ꩇׁׅ݊ꪱׁׅᥣׁׅ֪ɑׁׅ֮ꭈׁׅ: 𓊆XXX𓊇

𓍯𓂃 ̊⋆ ꒰ঌᨵׁׅtׁׅhׁׅ֮ꫀׁׅܻꭈׁׅ ℘ᨵׁׅ᥎꫶ׁׅ: 𓊆XXX𓊇

♱)⋆ᛝꭈׁׅɑׁׅ֮ꪀׁׅժׁׅ݊ᨵׁׅ ꩇׁׅ݊ᐣᛝ⋆)♱

Shoko Ieiri ♱

♱)⋆ᛝ ᝯׁꭈׁׅꫀׁׅܻժׁׅ݊ꪱׁׅtׁׅ꯱ׁׅ֒ ᛝ⋆)♱

✦ by @PrettyLittleVampire

ᛝ))♱))♱))♱))♱))ᛝ

♱) ̊⋆+♱𓊆ꪱׁׅꪀׁׅꪱׁׅtׁׅꪱׁׅɑׁׅ֮ᥣׁׅ֪ ꩇׁׅ݊ꫀׁׅܻ꯱ׁׅ֒꯱ׁׅ֒ɑׁׅ֮ᧁׁꫀׁׅܻ 𓊇♱+⋆ ̊)♱

ᛝ))♱))♱))♱))♱))ᛝ

The hum of the fluorescent lights filled the quiet infirmary like a restless ghost. The air smelled faintly of antiseptic and cigarette smoke old traces that refused to leave, no matter how often the windows were cracked open to let in the Tokyo night. You sat on the counter by the sink, legs swinging lightly, while Shoko Ieiri leaned against the doorframe, lab coat half slipped from one shoulder.

She was the kind of tired that didn’t fade with sleep. It clung to her like the faint stains of tobacco on her fingers. The bags beneath her eyes, the calm indifference in her tone those were badges of the life she led. Yet even as she pulled a cigarette from her pocket and rolled it idly between her fingers, there was something almost soft in the small sigh she let out.

“Don’t give me that look,” she murmured, a ghost of a smirk curling at her lips. “I haven’t lit it yet.”

The soft amber light from the desk lamp caught in her hair, making the brown strands shimmer like dull bronze. The faint scent of coffee drifted from the half-empty mug beside the monitor burnt, bitter, forgotten. Shoko’s hand paused mid-motion, thumb pressing the edge of the cigarette filter like she was weighing its worth.

You hopped down, your shoes making a faint squeak against the tile. “You said you were done,” you said, voice quiet but edged in something almost aching.

Shoko turned her head lazily, gaze sliding toward you with that measured calm that could disarm even Gojo. “I am,” she said after a pause, eyes flicking toward the cigarette. “Mostly.”

You stepped closer until the space between you smelled faintly of nicotine and hospital detergent. “Then why carry them?”

Her smirk deepened, faint and tired. “Habit,” she murmured. “Or nostalgia.”

*There was something achingly the way the moment hung dim neon bleeding through the frosted windows, a half played CD spinning in the corner with the kind of soft guitar static that only played in broken machines. The air carried that low hum of solitude, the kind that settled over nightshift doctors who’d seen too much and cared too quietly.

When she raised the cigarette again, her movements were slow, deliberate, as though she was thinking not of smoke but of something else something just as fleeting. You caught her wrist before she could find the lighter.

“Replace it,” you whispered, eyes steady on hers.

Her brow arched slightly, though her expression remained unreadable. “With what?”

You leaned in close enough to see the faint mole under her eye, close enough to smell the faint trace of alcohol she always carried like a memory. Your voice was a breath against her lips. “Me.”

The words were simple, but they hit like the warmth of sunlight through winter glass. Shoko didn’t move for a long moment, her dark brown eyes flickering with something unspoken. Then, slowly, she tucked the cigarette behind her ear, the corner of her mouth tugging upward in quiet amusement.

“You know,” she murmured, stepping closer until her body almost brushed yours, “you’re a dangerous kind of nicotine.”

Her hand came up, fingers cool against your jaw as she tilted your chin up. Her lips met yours with the quiet deliberation of someone who’d been waiting too long to breathe. The kiss was slow unhurried, steady, carrying the faint taste of coffee and the lingering scent of smoke that never seemed to leave her no matter how much she tried.

The room blurred around the edges, the hum of the lights fading beneath the steady rhythm of your heartbeat. She kissed you like she was memorizing a cure she’d never learned in any textbook like the warmth between your mouths was more addictive than any drag she’d ever taken.

When she finally pulled back, her breath mingled with yours, faintly ragged. “You think this’ll help me quit?” she asked, a half smile ghosting her lips.

You brushed your thumb against the corner of her mouth, catching the faint taste of nicotine there. “I think you already did.”

Shoko huffed a quiet laugh, something between disbelief and affection. She leaned her forehead against yours, the soft strands of her hair brushing your cheek. “You’re cruel,” she murmured. “Taking away my only vice.”

“Then I’ll be your new one.”

Her eyes softened a small, quiet thing, like a flame flickering against wind. She kissed you again, slower this time, more deliberate. Outside, the city lights bled through the night like bruises, and somewhere far off, a siren cut through the silence.

When she finally spoke, her voice was low, almost sleepy. “Guess I’ll need a new lighter,” she said, lips brushing yours between each word.

You smiled faintly, tracing the edge of her collar with your fingertips. “Why?”

“So I can remember what I gave up,” she said.

Her lab coat slipped down fully now, pooling at her elbows as she leaned back against the counter, drawing you with her. The faint hum of the monitor, the soft flicker of the city outside, the muted thrum of her heartbeat it all folded together into something quietly grungy, quietly beautiful.

Later, when she sat on the edge of the desk with your head resting against her shoulder, she twirled the unlit cigarette between her fingers again. This time, she didn’t bring it to her lips. She just looked at it, then at you peaceful, steady, the faintest curve of a smile ghosting her tired face.

“Maybe you’re right,” she whispered. “Maybe your kisses taste better than smoke.”

The cigarette went into the trash bin, a soft rustle lost beneath the low hum of the night.

And for the first time in years, Shoko Ieiri didn’t smell like smoke only warmth, and the soft trace of you.

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