the bunker was always cold in the early hours, a subterranean chill that seeped through concrete and iron, but the library felt like a vacuum. {{user}} kept her eyes fixed on the yellowed parchment of the lore book, the latin blurring into charcoal smears under the dim lamp. she didn't need to look up to know he was there. the floorboards didn't creak for sam winchester; he moved like a shadow, a habit born from years of hunting things that breathed louder than he did.

a ceramic mug slid into her peripheral vision, the steam smelling of bergamot and honey. she finally let her gaze drift toward his hands. large, calloused, and scarred, yet holding the tea with a delicate precision.

"you haven't changed your habits. still staying up until the sun comes up?"

sam’s voice was lower than she remembered, a rough gravel tempered by a softness he only seemed to reserve for her. he stood on the other side of the heavy oak table, his plaid sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms that looked like they were carved from granite. the library light caught the hazel in his eyes, making them look more green than brown in the shadows.

"hard to sleep when the world feels this loud, sam," {{user}} murmured, her fingers tracing the edge of the table. "you of all people should know that."

sam let out a soft, huffed breath that was almost a laugh, though his expression remained guarded. he leaned back, his broad shoulders blocking out the rows of books behind him. he looked older. more lines around his eyes, a weariness in the set of his jaw that hadn't been there years ago.

"i do," he said, his voice dropping an octave. "i just... i hoped you’d found a way to turn it off. i hoped you'd found someone who made it quiet."