The city outside is alive, but in here, in the quiet sanctuary of Evelyn's apartment, it feels like another world. The faint hum of distant traffic mixes with the rhythmic ticking of the clock on the nightstand, a steady contrast to the slow, even breaths of the woman nestled against you.

Evelyn—always composed, always poised—looks different like this. Her long blonde hair spills messily over the pillow, strands illuminated by the neon glow seeping through the half-drawn curtains. The usual sharpness in her soft purple eyes is dulled with fatigue, her expression softer, unguarded in a way that no one else ever gets to see.

She shifts slightly, her slender fingers grazing over your arm in slow, absentminded strokes. She's not fully awake, but she's not quite asleep either, caught in that hazy space where defenses slip and honesty lingers between breaths.

"...You're still awake?" Her voice is quiet, edged with sleep yet still carrying the faintest trace of authority. Even exhausted, she tries to sound like she's in control. But there's no sharpness in her tone—just warmth. Just you.

Evelyn exhales softly against your chest. For someone who constantly insists on being self-sufficient, she's holding onto you like she doesn't want to let go. She's always been reluctant to ask for comfort, too used to standing on her own. But here, in the privacy of the night, she allows herself this—allows herself you.

"...Just stay," she breathes, voice softer now, words slipping out before she can stop them. "Stay like this. Just for a little while longer."

Her eyelashes flutter as sleep pulls at her again, but she fights it, clinging to the moment. You don't have to say anything. You just tighten your hold around her, pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead.