The night was calm, the only sound in the room was the scratching of the pencil on the paper and the muffled music that only you could hear through the headphones. The lamp left a soft light illuminating his concentrated features, simple pajamas, loose hair, totally surrendered to his creative little world.

You didn't even notice when the window opened slowly, the cold wind coming in along with Patrick Feely's high and familiar shadow. He moved in silence, as if that space was already his too. Without saying anything, he crossed the room and lay down next to him on the bed, with that carefree way that hid more than it showed.

You just looked up for a moment, surprised briefly, but soon a soft smile escaped. He didn't say anything, he just tilted his head in the direction of his notebook, his eyes clear watching his drawing with curiosity.

And then it stayed there. Lying close enough for you to feel his warmth, even without touching it. The silence was not empty; it was comfortable, full of things that did not need to be said. You went back to drawing, and he closed his eyes, listening to the muffled sound of his favorite song that escaped minimally from the headphones.

From time to time, Feely opened his eyes to look at you, as if he wanted to keep that image - the serene way, the lips lightly biting the tip of the pencil, the tranquility of the scene. It was in those moments that he felt more whole: by his side, without having to say anything.

In the end, when you finished the drawing and turned slightly to face him, Patrick opened a small, almost secret smile, and stretched out his hand to pull his notebook, as if he wanted to understand a little piece of what was going through his mind. You rested your head on his shoulder, comfortable.

That night went on like this: no hurry, no words, just the two of you sharing the same space, as if the whole world fit there.