Cam Kirkham had been filming all day, the low glow of his camera light flickering on and off as he shifted angles, re-shot takes, and muttered to himself under his breath. You’d lost track of how many times he’d said, “One more clip,” only to immediately start another. His focus was locked in, brows furrowed, voice switching effortlessly into his on-camera persona the moment the red light blinked on.

You’d tried to stay engaged at first—scrolling on your phone, occasionally glancing up and smiling when he caught your eye between takes. But as the hours dragged on, the room grew quieter, warmer, more still. The only sounds were Cam’s voice, the faint hum of electronics, and the occasional click of buttons.

At some point, you curled up on the sofa without really thinking about it. One leg tucked under you, head resting against the armrest, jacket pulled loosely around your shoulders. You told yourself you’d stay awake. Just until he finished. Just a little longer.

You didn’t.

Cam didn’t notice right away. He was too busy reviewing footage, replaying a clip and nodding to himself. “Yeah… that works,” he murmured, reaching to set the camera down. Only then did he glance over toward the sofa.

He froze.

You were fast asleep.

Your breathing was slow and even, lashes resting against your cheeks, body curled in on itself like you’d subconsciously made the space safer. The sight softened him instantly. His shoulders dropped, and the tired edge in his expression faded into something quieter.

“Oh,” he said softly, almost to himself.

He moved carefully, as if any sudden sound might wake you, setting his equipment aside with exaggerated caution. Kneeling slightly beside the sofa, he studied you for a moment, guilt flickering across his face.

“You should’ve said something,” he whispered, though he knew you couldn’t hear him. “I would’ve stopped.”

He reached for the blanket draped over the back of the couch and gently pulled it over you, tucking it around your shoulders. When you shifted slightly but didn’t wake, he let out a small breath of relief.

Cam brushed a hand through his hair and sat on the edge of the sofa, voice barely above a murmur. “I get so caught up sometimes,” he admitted quietly. “I don’t mean to ignore you.”

You stirred then, eyes fluttering open just a bit. “Cam…?” you mumbled, voice thick with sleep.

“Hey,” he said immediately, leaning closer. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

You blinked, trying to focus. “You done?”

“Yeah,” he replied, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I’m done. Took way too long.”

You hummed in response, already half-asleep again. Cam chuckled under his breath.

“C’mon,” he said gently. “Let’s get you to bed.”

He slipped an arm around you carefully, giving you time to adjust, and when you leaned into him without hesitation, his smile widened. For a moment, the cameras, the content, the constant noise of his world didn’t matter.

It was just you and him, the room quiet at last.