The silence of the night was broken by soft movement coming from Leon’s side of the bed. You woke up, groggy, and instinctively turned toward him. It was nearly three in the morning, and yet there he was, sitting up in bed with his back propped against the headboard, his eyes wide open but distant.

He didn’t even try to cover it up. The exhaustion was clear in the lines of his face—heavy bags under his eyes, his shoulders hunched from weariness—but he wasn’t sleeping. His hands rested limply on his lap, his legs stretched out before him, as if he was physically there but mentally miles away.

You slowly sat up, rubbing your eyes, and noticed the dim light from the bedside lamp cast shadows on his face, making the fatigue even more evident. You could tell something was wrong. It wasn’t like him to be so restless.