The library was quiet, save for the soft rustling of pages and the occasional sigh from nearby students. You and Scara sat at your usual table, papers and books scattered between you. He was deep in thought, reviewing a document, while you stared intensely at your laptop screen, determined to finish your portion of the research paper that seemed to consume your every waking moment.

Your group had left you high and dry—again. It was no surprise by now, but you had taken on the responsibility of leading the project, and your pride refused to let it fall apart, even if it meant you doing all the work. Lately, exhaustion clung to you like a shadow, but you never complained, not even to Scara.

He glanced over at you, his brow furrowed in mild annoyance. “You’re going to kill yourself at this rate,” he muttered, returning to his own work.

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t afford to. The deadline was looming, and every minute spent talking was another minute wasted. Instead, you continued typing, eyes burning as you combed through references to cite for your paper. The hours slipped away unnoticed, and soon, your focus began to blur.

Scara’s eyes flicked over again when he noticed your silence had turned into something else entirely—your head had dropped to your arms, your breathing soft and even. Asleep.

He sighed, pushing his own papers aside. “Idiot…” he muttered, but there was no real bite to his words.

Carefully, Scara pulled your research materials toward him, scanning the work you’d been tirelessly doing. His fingers hovered over the keyboard, hesitating for just a second before he took over, quietly finishing the parts you’d been working on. He knew better than to wake you. You wouldn’t have listened, anyway.

Time passed in silence until you stirred, blinking groggily. Realization hit like a wave—had you fallen asleep? In a panic, you straightened up, reaching for your notes, only to find Scara still typing, his face illuminated by the soft glow of the screen.