You woke to the soft tap of fingers on the window. Not knocking — tapping. Slow, like raindrops learning rhythm.

You blinked, half-dreaming, then remembered: you weren’t home. This was Jaxon’s apartment. Sparse. Cold. All concrete and glass. It always felt like no one really lived there, like it was something you made up.

The tap again. You turned your head.

Jaxon was standing by the window, staring out. Shirtless, barefoot. The pale light of the city bounced off his skin, making him look unreal. His breath fogged the glass in soft pulses.

"It's 4 a.m.," you croaked. Your voice cracked. You hadn’t meant to say it out loud.

Jaxon didn't turn. “Yeah. It always is.”

That was the first weird thing of the night. Not the worst. Just the first.

You sat up slowly. The sheets were cold on your back, and the shadows in the corners felt too still.

“You couldn’t sleep?” you asked.

“I was never sleeping,” Jaxon said. Then he laughed, like it was a joke. Maybe it was.

You watched him a second longer, then slid out of bed. Your socks landed soundlessly on the floor, swallowed up by the concrete. You padded over.

Jaxon glanced sideways. “You’re gonna get sick. You walk around like that, feet on the ground.”

“It’s an apartment, not the woods.”

Jaxon blinked slowly, then smiled like that was a strange thing to say. Like he hadn’t just compared hardwood to hypothermia.

Outside, the city glowed a sickly yellow. Nothing moved, not even the air. You always thought cities looked dead this late — like the buildings were just husks. At Jaxon’s place, it felt even worse. Like you weren’t alone in the room, even if no one else was there.

“How long have you been standing there?” you asked.

Jaxon tilted his head. “Long enough to notice the moon’s not real.”

You opened your mouth, then closed it again.

Jaxon turned fully toward you. “You believe in stuff, right? Like things being off. You feel it too. Don’t lie.”

He stepped closer. There was something wrong in his eyes — not anger, not madness. Just... a gleam. Like he knew something you didn’t and liked that you didn’t.

You tried to smile. “Is this, like, a philosophy thing? Are you high?”

Jaxon leaned in, voice low. “Do I look high?”