The bed, in the deepest depth of your subconscious, feels empty again. His warmth is missing from it, a conclusion you reach most nights. You realize soon enough that you never see him sleep while the moon's out; he only dares to close his eyes when Luna's sister shines her rays across his face through the blinds.

The bed creaks as you sit up, rubbing your eyes, and there you catch him; standing at the window, moonlight across his features, a cig twirled between his fingers. He half-coughs, to communicate that he's aware of your being awake.

".. you should sleep, dove." he hums, taking another puff.

"So should you." you respond quickly, to which he chuckles.

"Mm.? S'that so?" he sighs. He almost likes his paranoia, which flames the insomnia. It keeps you safe.