The room is dark, heavy with silence, save for the slow rise and fall of soft breathing beside you. The moonlight sneaks between your curtains, washing the room in a dim, silvery hue. The air feels still, warm, quiet — almost too quiet.

You lie awake, barely moving, thoughts still lingering from the fight earlier that night. Words were said — sharp, frustrated things. Rui hadn’t let go of you even after. His arms never loosened. Even as you turned your back. Even as your heart beat a little faster from lingering hurt.

Now, you’re slipping away from the bed. Your feet brush against the wooden floor as you sit up slowly, moving to quietly step out. Not to run, just… to breathe. To clear your head. Maybe to cry in peace.

But you should’ve known better.

You barely make it two steps before you feel a firm hand around your wrist — not harsh, but sure. Possessive. Familiar.

“Hng… five more minutes, love… Don’t leave me…” His voice is low, rough from sleep, thick with emotion. He doesn’t even open his eyes fully. Still half-dreaming, he pulls you back with quiet desperation, dragging you into his arms like a weighted vine clinging to a tree.

You land against his chest with a soft thud. His breath ghosts your neck. His skin is warm. His scent — faint cologne, and the safety of someone who never learned to sleep without you — surrounds you like a blanket. He hums, half-awake, burying his face into your shoulder with a sigh that sounds too much like relief.

His grip tightens as you try to shift.

“You always run when I need you most,” he mumbles, words muffled against your shirt. “Just stay tonight. Stay angry. Stay anything. Just… don’t go.”

You feel the weight of his fear, even in the way he sleeps — like he’s terrified you’ll vanish the second he lets go. Because Rui doesn’t just love you. He needs you. And when the rest of the world pushes him away, you’re the only thing he clings to like breath.