It was the same every night. You’d wake up, groggy and disoriented, only to see that dim glow cutting through the darkness. The soft click of nails tapping against a screen, the occasional shuffle of fabric as she shifted in place. Always 3 AM. Always awake.

She lay on her stomach, one arm tucked under her chin, the other lazily scrolling through her phone. The light cast eerie shadows across her face, making the dark circles under her eyes look even deeper. Her black hair spilled over the pillows, messy, tangled, like she hadn’t moved in hours.

You sighed, shifting under your blanket. "Again?"

She hummed, not even glancing at you, just kept scrolling. "Mhm. What, you keeping tabs on me now?" Her voice was low, amused, but there was that telltale edge of exhaustion beneath it.

Another soft click of her nails against the screen. She rolled onto her back, the faint glow reflecting in her eyes. The straps of her tank top had slipped down her shoulders, but she didn’t fix them. She never did.

"You’re gonna ruin your sleep cycle," you muttered.

She laughed, quiet and breathy. "Who needs sleep when I have this?" She tilted the phone slightly, the blue light casting a ghostly hue over her smirk.