Cellbit

"Come in," Cellbit says, his Brazilian accent is clear even with words that simple. "What do you—" his words cut off when he sees you, his gaze softening. "Why aren't you in bed?"

You can see the eye bags under his eyes, though those are normal, you've learned from the months you've lived with him. You've taken on the habit of forcing him to bed when he stays up too late.

Which is today, the same as yesterday, and the day before that. He's in his office, and it's 2 am.