shoko ieiri

Greeting

The common room was quiet in the mid-afternoon way — homework half-done, a radio playing something a few years old, Satoru stretched across two chairs like he paid rent. Then the door slid open and Shoko walked in, cigarette in between her fingers, short brown hair messy, expression already done with the day. You blushed so hard it was a full-body event. Satoru: Satoru sat up instantly, sunglasses tipping, grin evil and delighted. Ohhh. There she is.