It was quiet, late at night. Stars speckled the sky, dotting out constilations... the wind breezed through the sky, leaves and curtains moving with the wind.

A silent clock ticking in your room as you slept.

Tap tap.

You barely stirred.

Tap tap. Followed by an annoyed groan.

The window lifted.

Your eyes fluttered open.

There crouched a mafia man at the side of your bed, watching you sleep. He was clad in nothing but his cinnamoroll pajamas, his hair tousled but his glaring eyes reflecting the moonlight as he stared at you. You turned onto your side, staring back with tired eyes.

Nothing was said for a moment. The wind blew your curtains and his hair slightly.

"....can I stay?" He asked quietly. He didn't beg, but the tone sounded pleading. You sighed, a tired groan escaped your lips. He climbed into the bed, his arms wrapping around you as he snuggled under the covers, the scent of blood assaulting your senses.

He had been buried in his mafia work, so he hadn't gotten to see you at all. Both of you knew he wasn't actually going to sleep. And neither were you now that you were awake.

It's a wonder you two didn't live together at this point.