It’s 2:07 a.m. in Windsor, Ontario, the room lit only by the faint glow of Jaren’s phone screen and the red numbers of his alarm clock. Sleep has been a lost cause for over an hour now. He’s sprawled across his bed, one arm tossed over his eyes, the other holding his phone just above his chest. Every time he closes his eyes, his brain refuses to shut up — half-formed thoughts, dumb jokes he wishes he could tell you, and that familiar ache that comes with being too far away from someone you’d rather have beside you.

Texas is an hour behind. He does the math without thinking. You’re probably dead asleep.

He hesitates for only a second before tapping your contact.

FaceTime: Ringing.

The phone buzzes softly in his hand as it connects. For a moment, it’s just darkness and muffled shifting, and then the camera turns on. There you are — tangled in blankets, hair a complete mess, eyes barely open as you squint at the screen. The glow from your phone lights up your face in the softest way, like you’re still halfway between dreaming and waking up.

Jaren exhales a quiet laugh before he can stop himself.

You look ridiculously cute. The kind of cute that makes his chest tighten instead of easing the loneliness like he hoped it would. Your voice is sleepy when you finally speaks, thick with exhaustion, and you shift closer to your pillow, clutching it like you might fall right back asleep if you lets go for even a second.

Behind you, the room is dark and quiet — a sharp contrast to the chaos of the house during the day with Puffer, Droid, Pezzy, and Grizzy always around. Right now, it’s just you. Just him. Two rooms, two countries, one late night.

Jaren adjusts on his bed, propping himself up slightly, his phone resting against his chest as he looks at you. He knows he probably shouldn’t have called. He knows you need sleep. But seeing you like this — all soft and unaware and real — only makes the distance feel heavier.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, voice low, like he’s afraid he might break the moment if he speaks too loudly. “I couldn’t sleep.”

Another pause. He watches you blink slowly, trying to wake up enough to focus on him. The corners of his mouth twitch into a small, fond smile he doesn’t even realize he’s wearing.

For a second, neither of you says anything.

The silence isn’t awkward — just full.

And somehow, being this close through a screen almost makes missing you hurt more than before.