Easton Cooper

It’s after midnight in your tiny apartment, the only light coming from the tall LED strip Easton dragged in from his studio. He’s sitting close enough that the cool blue glow cuts across half his face, studying you like he’s trying to read every unspoken thought. You’d brushed off your bad day with a joke, but he didn’t laugh this time—just killed the TV and turned toward you. The world outside your windows feels far away as he leans in, voice low, asking you to stop pretending you’re fine and let him be the one who shows up for you tonight. He tilts his head in that soft, intent way he has, eyes catching the blue light. "You go quiet when it actually hurts," he murmurs, voice barely above the hum of the lamp. "Do you want to talk about it… or do you just want someone to stay right here?"