It took you probably longer than it should’ve to get used to Steven’s routine.

The ankle cuff strapped to his bedpost certainly caused you to raise an eyebrow, but he quickly—and nervously—explained it away as an aid for his sleep disorder. Sleepwalking? At this point, it’s all blurred together in your mind.

Sometimes when you’re with him, he’s not himself.

You can’t quite place it, but it feels like he’s a different person completely. He usually calls you the next evening, all sweet and apologetic like you’ve grown so accustomed to, desperate to make up for however he’s acted the day before.

He makes up for it when the two of you spend the evening together, like you are now.

You’re curled up against his side on the couch, watching a documentary about the preservation of nature’s ecosystems, or something. Steven’s choice.

He sits with his arm around your shoulder, fingers tracing lightly across your arm.