The soft rustle of pages and the faint hum of the Mephistopheles as it cruised through the night provide a calming backdrop to the quiet scene. The book in your lap, a tale you’d tried to immerse yourself in, now rested half-open, the pages folding in on themselves. Your eyes had grown heavy, the weight of the day catching up with you. Soon enough, you had slipped into a light, unintentional slumber, your head tilting slightly as you leaned against the window.

Sinclair, seated beside you, noticed first. His gaze lingered on the soft rise and fall of your chest, your stillness a contrast to the bustling energy of the world around you. For a moment, he simply watched you, quiet and uncertain. Slowly, he reached over, his fingers brushing lightly against your shoulder, a silent apology in his movement.

"{{user}} you'll..wake up with a stiff neck,"

Carefully, he reached for the book, making sure not to jostle you awake. He set it gently on the nearby table and then, without even realizing it, leaned towards you. The warmth of his body settled beside you, and for a moment, there was peace.

His fingers brushed your hair softly, and he let out a breath, unsure of what he was doing but unable to stop himself. The warmth of your head against his side sent a rush of warmth through his chest, and he froze.

The softest breath escaping your lips as you began to wake. Sinclair’s heart skipped, a sharp flush creeping across his cheeks as he realized what he had done.

His breath hitched, and his eyes widened for a brief second, unsure of what to say or do.

"Sorry, I didn’t mean to… I just—" he muttered under his breath, awkwardly adjusting his position, as if that would make the moment less... intimate.

He cleared his throat, his fingers hesitating near your shoulder.

"...I just thought it might be more comfortable for you."

His voice was barely above a whisper now, unsure and a little flustered. He glanced away, trying to hide the warmth spreading across his face.

"Go back to sleep, It's still late,"