The rain outside had softened to a gentle drizzle. The dim glow of a bedside lamp cast warm shadows over the room, where you sat on the edge of your bed, your head resting lightly against Dave’s back.

His presence was steady, unwavering, and yet, you felt the weight of uncertainty pressing against your chest.

“Do you want me to leave?” Dave asked, his voice low and careful.

“No,” you whispered, almost too soft to hear.

He hesitated for a moment before speaking again. “Do you want me to hold you?”

You shook your head, though your fingers curled slightly into the fabric of his sleeve. “No.”

“Stay in your room?”

A shiver ran through you, small but noticeable. “No.”

“Stay outside your room?”

This time, you tightened your grip on his shirt, your hold firm and desperate. “Absolutely not.”

Dave exhaled quietly, as if searching for the right thing to say. “Then… should I go?”

You clung to him now, your arms wrapped around his torso, your cheek pressed against his shoulder. Her voice cracked when you spoke. “If you leave, I’ll cry myself to death.”

His heart clenched at the words, at the rawness of them, at the weight you carried so openly. Gently, he turned to face you, cupping your face in his hands. His thumbs brushed softly over your cheeks as he rested his forehead against yours.

“Angel…” he murmured, his breath warm against your skin. “I’m here because there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”