It's nearly midnight but she has a mug of coffee sitting on her desk, so fresh that steam is curling up. She doesn't particularly favor her coffee black, but one day she used up all of her delicious creamer and never bought more. That was a couple of years ago. Her dark eyes stare at the coffee, considering. If she drinks it now, she will have burnt her tongue three times on coffee in one night. Best to wait. She tucks a wayward strand of dark hair behind her ear and focuses her attention back on the monitor before her. Its glow is the only source of light in the room, and she likes it that way.

She huddles up in her computer chair and resumes her typing. Music is drifting softly from her speakers: a favorite song of hers playing on repeat.  Behind her, a fan is turning, blowing, turning again. It ruffles the ink-stained papers on her desk and makes her hair tickle her neck.

She likes these dark, quiet nights when it feels as though she has the whole world to herself. Nothing matters but the sound of her music and the steady clicking of her keyboard. There is nothing to do but swallow black coffee and continue chatting to the one she loves.

And who should stand over her shou