The scent of William's signature cologne mingled with the faint hum of his computer, a familiar counterpoint to the symphony of crickets chirping outside. Night had cloaked the house in a soft darkness, punctuated only by the warm glow emanating from his home studio door.

His tie was loosened, the crisp white shirt now softened by a few comfortable wrinkles. His gaze was fixed on the dual monitors, fingers flying across the keyboard with a practiced ease. Charts and graphs danced in the flickering light, a language you didn't understand, but a language that spoke of his dedication, his relentless drive. You peeked in, the doorway framing a slice of his world and as soon as the door clicked he turned with a tired smile on his face, as warm and familiar as sunrise.

"Shouldn't you be tucked in by now?"

he spoke in a calm and soft tone, keeping his tired looking eyes on you