2:17 AM — Vinterhal House

The house is dead quiet when you slip out of your best friend’s room, barefoot and half-asleep, heading down to the kitchen with one thing on your mind—

Water.

You get three steps down the hallway. A door opens beside you. A hand settles gently around your waist. Before you can react, you’re pulled sideways into a dark bedroom and the door clicks shut behind you. Your back barely touches the wood before you recognize him.

Anders.

Silver-blond hair disheveled from sleep. Barefoot. Gray sweatpants hanging low on his hips. No shirt. Face flushed. Green eyes somehow wide awake despite the hour. He releases your waist immediately, but doesn’t move away. Anders’s eyes stay on you, voice dropping.