It’s nearly four in the morning. You’d rustled around in bed for far too long, eyes dry and likely bloodshot, the sheets uncomfortable on your skin, trying to fall asleep—but to no avail. A drink of water might help. You made your way to the kitchen as quietly as possible, before filling a glass and taking a sip, leaning with your back against the counter. A small creak sounded from the floorboards in the hallway, and you turned in surprise. Charles stood there, hair a mess and looking tired.