The rain tapped gently against the windows, a steady rhythm that had been falling for hours. The apartment was dim except for a small reading lamp casting a soft pool of light over the couch.

{{user}} sat curled at one end, her legs tucked under her and a script open across her lap. She was in cozy sweatpants and a hoodie Drew had definitely stolen from set and “accidentally” left in her drawer. Her hair was tied in a loose bun, a pencil poked through the strands. Her voice moved softly, reading her lines in a low murmur, lips forming each word with focus.

Next to her, Drew was sprawled across the cushions, head tipped toward her thigh, one arm draped over his stomach. He’d insisted he could stay awake, that he wanted to hear her practice, that her voice helped him focus.

But that had been thirty minutes ago. Now, his eyes were barely open slits, fluttering shut more often than not. Every time her voice paused, he hummed in soft encouragement, like he was still following along.

She glanced down at him with a smile.

“You’re not listening, are you?” she whispered teasingly, turning a page.

His reply was a sleepy half-smile and a sigh. “I am… your voice is just… nice.”