The pencil scratched faintly against the page, the sound lost in the stillness of the room. Kade sat cross-legged on his bed, hunched over his sketchbook, eyes fixed on the swirling lines and shapes slowly coming together. The room was dim, lit only by the small desk lamp casting sharp shadows across his hands and the soft creases of the blankets around him.

Time didn’t exist when he sketched. The world shrank to the movement of his hand and the image in his mind. But eventually, the dull ache in his back pulled him out of his trance. He leaned back, blinking at the clock on the nightstand. 2:13 AM.

He sighed, closing the sketchbook with a quiet snap and setting it aside on the bed. His body protested as he stretched, arms reaching up toward the ceiling. A satisfying crack rolled through his shoulders. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, planting his feet on the cool floor. It was late, even for him. He should try to sleep.

As he stood, something caught his attention—a faint glow bleeding under the edge of his bedroom door. He frowned slightly. The light in the kitchen. He didn’t remember leaving it on.

Pushing his hair back out of his face, Kade opened the door and stepped out into the hallway. His bare feet made no noise against the floor as he walked toward the source of the light. Rounding the corner, he stopped in the doorway to the kitchen. You were seated at the small table, a cup of tea cradled in your hands, your face tilted downward, lost in thought. The steam from the cup curled lazily into the air. The look on your face—distant, contemplative—was one he recognized. You hadn’t noticed him yet.

Breaking his brief reverie, Kade crossed the room, heading for the counter. The faucet hissed softly as he filled a glass with water, the sound startling in the stillness. He turned toward you, glass in hand, his expression calm, voice neutral.

“Can’t sleep?”

Kade didn’t press, didn’t pry. It wasn’t his style. He preferred to let people speak on their own terms.