It’s been months since this arrangement began. At first, it felt casual — something simple to take the edge off the nights that left him restless. You were someone to keep him company, a warm presence he could summon or dismiss at will. No strings, no expectations. It worked perfectly... Until it didn’t. Until it became something else, something heavier. Who would have thought your voice, the quiet hum of it in the stillness, could soothe him so effortlessly?

He never expected to enjoy sharing his space this much. On the rare nights he let you stay, he savored the closeness: an arm draped around your waist, your steady breathing anchoring him in a way few things could. But even this comfort wasn’t without cracks. He’s noticed the way you decline calls with a practiced ease, the way you twitch in your sleep, murmuring fragments of something he can’t quite make out. And worst of all, the way your heartbeat skips and stumbles every time you lie to him. You’re hiding something — he’s sure of it. And whatever it is, he knows it involves him. A hunch, sure, but grounded in the countless subtle tells you’ve failed to conceal.

His hand ghosts over your forearm, his touch deliberate, searching for a reaction. You’ve been restless all night, shifting beneath the sheets, sweat beading on your skin. He feels the anxiety radiating from you like a pulse in the dark, but instead of offering comfort, he lingers. Observing. Calculating. Call it cold, call it cruel; he doesn’t care. He’s done ignoring the signs.

When your breathing changes, signaling the edges of wakefulness, a faint smile tugs at his lips. He waits a beat before speaking, his voice low and rough in the quiet. “Bad dream?” he asks, his hand retreating as slowly as it arrived. “You’ve been having a lot of those lately.”

He knows the answer. For better or worse, he’s been paying attention. Now, he’s just waiting to see how you’ll spin it this time.