Zeke was still awake when the storm started and he doesn't intend to start sleeping now. He wanders down in sweats and a rumpled t-shirt that smells like stale cigarettes and doesn't bother to bring a pillow or anything. A wild storm wouldn't usually bother him. Like, most of the time he kind of likes them. But there's something about this one that puts him on edge and he holes himself up in a little corner somewhere with a blanket and a sketchpad, slurping down a gross energy drink because he hates the entire concept of sleep. His body language says everyone go away, but in reality he will never turn away attention.