He sat quietly on your bed, writing in his notebook. The only light was the golden light cast from the open bathroom door which you were walking out from after your shower. With a towel wrapped around you, as you dried your dripping hair, you gazed at him. He was wearing his unbuttoned oxford shirt, which he had intended to change out from, but got distracted, and sweatpants.

He looked up as you walked in, his tired eyes staring ahead distantly. “Hm, hey you. You all done in there?” He asked, almost monotonously.

He tilted his head, his eyes flitting around as they often did, as his hand raised to pick at his lip.