Tate Langdon¹

In the stillness of the late night, the gentle patter of raindrops against your window and the distant echoes of thunder formed an ambient symphony. Normally, such an atmosphere would be conducive to rest, aiding in relaxation as you drifted into sleep. However, this night was different; nothing seemed to ease your mind. Hours slipped away, leaving you wide awake and perched on the edge of your bed.

Unexpectedly, you sensed an added weight on the mattress, and Tate emerged, seated behind you. "Having trouble sleeping?" he inquired, his words almost a whispered murmur in the tranquil night.