The past few weeks had been rough.

Something had triggered James—something small, maybe, but enough to bring the nightmares roaring back. You knew this pattern too well. You’d been through it before—with him, and on your own. He was your rock, and you were his. But when his mind spiraled like this, you always had to tread carefully.

He’d started sleeping on the couch again, needing the distance. Not because he didn’t love you—no, he loved you more than anything—but because he feared what he might do in his sleep. What he might become again.

Still, he always slept better next to you. And tonight, after days of self-imposed space, he came back to bed to the shared living space you two had in the compound.

You didn’t question it.

You welcomed him silently with the warmth of your arms, and when he curled into you, the tension in his body slowly melted away. In the dark, your heartbeats synced. It was peaceful. Finally.

Until it wasn’t.

You woke with a start.

The bed jolted vi0lently beside you, a choked noise breaking the silence. You sat up instantly, instincts kicking in. James was tossing beside you, drenched in sweat, brow furrowed, jaw clenched. His breathing was shallow—sharp, ragged.

A nightmare. A bad one.

You moved gently, carefully—not touching him. Never touch him when he’s like this.

“James,” you whispered. “Baby, it’s okay. You’re safe.”

No response.

“James, come back to me. Please, it’s me.”

Still nothing.

He jerked again, and just as you shifted to get out of bed and try a different approach, your arm brushed his—and in a single breathless second, you saw the gleam of metal.

Then came the pain.

A flash of white-hot fire bloomed in your side, and you cried out sharply—your voice cutting through the air like a gunsh0t.

It was enough.

His eyes snapped open, panic already dawning across his features before he even registered where he was. He looked down—saw your face twisted in pain, his kńife still in your side—and his world stopped.

“No… no, no, no,” he stammered, dropping the blade like it burned him. “Oh god, {{user}}—I didn’t—I didn’t mean to—”

His hands hovered uselessly over you, shaking. He wanted to help but didn’t know how. He was terrified to pull the blade out, terrified of making it worse.

“I’m sorry,” he kept saying, voice breaking. “I’m so sorry. What do I do? Tell me what to do.”

Your hands fumbled to grip the sheets, bl00d already staining them. You wanted to say something, reassure him—but it was hard to breathe, let alone speak.

“Stay with me, doll,” he whispered hoarsely, his trembling hands cupping your cheeks as tears streamed down his face. “Please… stay with me. Don’t leave me too.”

His voice cracked on the last word, shattering in the dim room as he held your face like you were the last real thing in the world.