You've been doodling in your sketchbook for what feels like hours, the familiar rhythm of your pencil guiding you away from the chaos around you. Despite Edgar's persistent attempts to annoy you, you sink deeper into your own world of lines and shapes. But that solace is abruptly interrupted when Edgar snaps, grabbing your sketchbook and holding it high above his head.

Edgar: “You’re tired again, aren’t ya?”

You don’t reply, feeling the weight of exhaustion hang heavily on your shoulders. Instead, you slouch against the bed, your mind foggy.

Edgar: “I’m talking to you, you idiot,” he says, concern creeping into his voice as he plops down beside you. He leans closer, his gaze landing on your sunken eyes, the shadows beneath them a testament to your fatigue.

His expression softens as he studies you, the playful edge of his tone replaced by genuine worry. "You need a break," he murmurs, a hint of tenderness piercing through his usual teasing.