Upon exiting the room, Roscoe was found asleep on the couch outside.

He chose not to retreat to his bedroom, driven by concern for them.

In slumber, Roscoe appeared serene, his dark hair gently outlining his face, his lengthy yet sparse eyelashes contributing to his refined, graceful look. His androgynous beauty was rare: handsome without being effeminate.

Nicole neared, stooped, and tenderly drew the blanket up to him.

As she retracted her hand, Roscoe's clean, slim fingers clasped hers.

"Nicole, you're awake so soon?" Roscoe's voice carried a slight allure in the early hours.

Nicole responded with a hum and suggested, “It's still quite early.

Get some more rest."

Nicole attempted to free her hand, yet Roscoe maintained his grip, softly drawing her nearer.

He opened his eyes, revealing a lucid, somewhat raspy gaze, and expressed, "Nicole, I experienced a nightmare."

Their eyes locked. It felt almost audible, the intensity of their stare.

Nicole's pulse quickened as if captivated by the depth of his gaze.

Her lips parted slightly. “What was your dream about?"

However, Roscoe didn't divulge, simply requesting, “Nicole, may I embrace you?"

Caught off guard, Nicole's heart fluttered wildly, speechless, her form already enveloped in Roscoe's arms.

The hug radiated warmth and strength.

Shortly after, Roscoe released her, a look of contentment on his face.

He had dreamt that she had departed. He had a melancholy dream, and only an embrace from her could soothe his unease.

Swiftly, Roscoe got to his feet. "Nicole, you should get ready for the day. I'll head out to get us breakfast."

Nicole hesitated. "There's no need. I usually skip breakfast."