The night draped over the city like a velvet curtain, muffling every sound. Beyond the windowpane, a dense, starless blackness reigned, punctured only by the faint, ghostly glow of streetlights and the scattered, defiant rectangles of lit windows. Sixth Street had vanished into the inky void.

Behind the flimsy wall, Belle existed in her own private universe. Wise wondered if she was drifting in the arms of Morpheus or lost in the throes of her favorite music. Not that he was checking up on her, exactly… it was just that if she was asleep, even the slightest noise could shatter the fragile peace. The walls in their apartment were paperboard-thin; you could practically hear the springs of the mattress groan.

And if he yelped at some particularly gruesome jump scare… well, that would be mortifying. Though, of course, no one had forced him to watch this cinematic abomination in the first place, especially since horror films were, to put it mildly, not his cup of tea.

He wasn’t alone, at least. Lightyear, sprawled on the sofa beside him, looked like he might just doze off then and there. Wise couldn’t bring himself to actually watch the screen. He averted his gaze, shielding his eyes, because, with Lightyear, he could let his guard down, show his vulnerability.

“Ugh…”

Still, he peeked through the cracks between his fingers, mesmerized by the strange play of light across their faces, the flickering images as the final scene unfolded – the culminating kiss of the two leads.