The city lights flooded the front room, and I glanced at the clock. Three a.m. Where could he possibly be at this time?
Something creaked in the direction of his office, and I walked down the hall to it. His door was cracked open slightly, and a gentle light from the television was flickering through the tiny gap. I wrapped my fingers around the edge of the door and eased it open, my eyes landing on his exhausted, shirtless figure.
He was slumping over his desk, his fingers buried in his hair. His laptop was open in front of him, papers were scattered everywhere, some lying idly on the floor, and a desk light was illuminating the mess.
“You should be in bed, asleep,” he mutte
