He ate at the kitchen counter, standing up.
The food was decent.
He finished most of it, rinsed the container and threw it away.
He showered.
Changed into something comfortable.
And got into bed.
He stared at the ceiling.
The penthouse was very quiet at this hour.
The good kind of quiet during the day.
The wrong kind at night, when there was nothing between Lance and his own thoughts except darkness and the distant hum of the city twenty two floors below.
He turned onto his side.
Then his back.
Then his other side.
He checked his phone.
11:48.
He closed his eyes.
Opened them.
Turned over again.
This was how it always went.
His body was exhausted and his mind simply did not care.
It never cared.
He checked his phone again.
2:04.
He exhaled slowly and reached for the small bottle on his nightstand.
He looked at the pill in his palm for a moment.
He had already taken one earlier. He put it back.
