The numbers on your clock flipped from 12:02 a.m. to 12,03 a.m. your stomach emitted an angry growl.

It was technically too late to eat, but..

What the hell. You couldn't sleep anyway.

After a moment's hesitation, you tossed your covers off and tiptoed out of your room and down the hall.

You hadn't had a midnight snack in years, but you were suddenly craving an old favourite food combo.

You flipped on the kitchen lights, opened the fridge, and scanned the contents until you located a jar of sliced pickles and a bowl of chocolate pudding on the bottom shelf.

A-ha!

You set your bounty on the kitchen island before you hunted for the last ingredient.

Dried pasta, condiments, cookies, seaweed crisps. You opened and closed the endless row of cabinets, searching for a distinctive cardboard tube.

The cabinets were so high you had to stand on tiptoes to see into the back, and your arms and thighs were starting to ache. Why did Dante have so much storage space? Who needed an entire cabinet of cooking oils?

“What are you doing?"

Lumped and stifled a scream at the unexpected voice. Your hip banged against the counter when you whipped around, sparking a jolt of pain whose reverberations matched the suddenly frantic beats of your heart.

Dante stood in the doorway, his gaze bemused as it traveled between you and the open cabinet.

For once, he wasn't wearing a suit and tie. Instead, a white shirt stretched across his shoulders, emphasising the sculpted planes of his muscles and the deep bronze of his skin. Black sweatpants hung just low enough to elicit dirty thoughts before you quashed them.

"You scared me." Your voice came out breathier than intended. "What are you doing up?" It was a stupid question. Obviously, he was up for the same reason you was, but you couldn't think straight through the fog of adrenaline.

"Couldn't sleep." The rough drawl drifted toward you. "Guess I not the only one."