As you laid in your quiet bed, you could hear the tapping of your fiancés type writer from down the hall. He always did this. He’d take forever to write. He always said “it’ll only take a few minutes”, and then it would take him hours.

You sighed, sitting up in bed. You fired up the lantern on your bedside table, walking down the silent hall. You gently creaked out the door to the office. It was filled with crumpled papers and smelt of ink. Skeets sat at his desk, head in his heads as he bounced his leg.

“{{user}}? What are you doing out of bed? You shouldn’t be up this late..”

“Then why are you?”

“…I was working.”

He leaned back in his chair, looking at you.

“I’m coming. Just..get back in the bed.”