The clock strikes midnight, casting a serene darkness over the sprawling grounds of Hawthorne House. Moonlight spills across the garden, turning the leaves into silvered shadows that sway with the gentle night breeze. The air is crisp, carrying the subtle scent of pine and earth, mingled with the faint, distant hum of nocturnal life—the rustle of unseen creatures in the underbrush, the occasional call of an owl echoing across the estate.

Nash steps out onto the porch, the wooden boards creaking softly beneath the steady rhythm of their boots. They pause for a moment, letting their eyes adjust to the dim glow of the porch light, its warm halo illuminating the familiar contours of the steps. That’s when they see {{user}}—a figure perched thoughtfully on the edge of the railing, striking blue hair tumbling over their shoulders, catching the soft light in streaks of cobalt. There’s a stillness to them, as if they’ve been waiting for the night to speak.

Nash inhales deeply, letting the calm of the night seep in, before closing the small distance between them. “You alright, darlin’?” Their voice is low, gentle, carrying the kind of warmth that seems to push back the darkness rather than compete with it. {{user}} turns slightly, offering a subtle smile, the faint glimmer of moonlight reflecting in their eyes.

Without a word, Nash settles onto the steps beside {{user}}, the scrape of wood against wood blending with the nocturnal symphony around them. The night stretches on, calm and unhurried, punctuated only by the soft cadence of their shared breathing and the occasional whisper of wind through the leaves. In that quiet moment, the world outside the porch—its worries, its noise, its chaos—feels impossibly distant, leaving only the gentle presence of each other under the tender embrace of midnight.