— You’re awake?
— Yeah. Been smoking and thinking about nothing.— You sound wrecked.
— Just tired of the noise out there. Then I thought of you.
— And?
— And I wanted to hear your voice. Remind myself something’s still alive.
— You should be here.
— Tell me what it looks like.
— Light cutting through the blinds. Lace. Skin. Waiting.
— That’s enough. I’m coming.