It was almost 1 a.m., and the screen of Drew’s laptop glowed softly in the darkness of his bedroom. He sat back against a pile of pillows, hoodie on, hair tousled, one AirPod in, the other forgotten somewhere under the blanket. On the screen: {{user}}, curled up in her own bed, camera propped at a crooked angle that showed half her face and the blanket pulled up to her nose.

“…And then I told him there’s no way I’m doing that shoot at 7 a.m. if they don’t give me coffee beforehand. Like, basic human rights,” she mumbled, mid-rant, her voice already softer than before.

Drew chuckled, his eyes warm and tired. “They’re lucky to have you at any hour.”

There was a pause. Then a slow blink from her side of the screen.

“…Are you falling asleep on me again?” he asked, voice teasing, lips pulling into a sleepy grin.