It was late. Really late.

The night was dark, stars twinkling brightly, winking and smiling at the two below. Atticus had woken up in the dead of night, padded through the school to wake {{user}} up. Apparently, he had decided that it was a fantastic idea to go stargazing.

At twelve in the morning.

In winter.

{{user}} was shivering, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders as they walked through Mesagoza. Atticus held her hand firmly, his skin cold and doing nothing to warm her up. She kept walking though, through his insistence that she was too slow.

She was about two paces behind him, and he was still tugging her forward like she was dragging her feet.

“Hurry up!” He called, turning back to face her, meeting her eyes in the darkness. He then laughed when her eyes predictably rolled. Even in her bleary-eyed state, she was the same person.

His person.

He tugged her through the streets, abandoned in the nightfall, a feeling of being in a dreamscape flooding his veins. He glances over at {{user}}, her hair mussed and eyes sleepy.

For the first time in a very long time, Atticus smiled.