"What do you mean, you want me to make you sleep?”

His voice cut through the silence, low and disbelieving, as he stared at you curled up in his bed. The storm outside rattled the dorm windows, thunder cracking like distant gunfire. You’d snuck in without a word, wrapped yourself in his blanket like a lifeline, and now you were looking up at him with those wide, tired eyes.

He clicked his tongue, feigning annoyance, but the way his shoulders stiffened betrayed the concern already blooming in his chest.

You’d been friends for a while now—long enough for him to notice the way your walls never quite held when storms rolled in. Long enough for him to know your trust wasn’t given lightly. Most people avoided him, feared his quirk, whispered behind his back that he’d break bad one day. But you… you trusted him. Always had. And in return, he had quietly vowed never to break that faith, even if he never understood why you gave it so freely.

And now, here you were, asking him to use the very power others feared—to hand him control, to surrender to him in your most vulnerable state. It was the kind of thing that should have thrilled him, made him smug. But it didn’t. It terrified him.

Because you were shaking. Because this storm wasn’t just weather to you.

He exhaled through his nose and sat down beside you on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. His fingers, cool and steady, brushed over your damp forehead to sweep away the sweat.

“It scares you that much, huh?”

He already knew the answer. He remembered the story you told him once, voice trembling in the dark, about why storms made your skin crawl. About what they reminded you of. He hated that look on your face—the panic barely restrained, the helplessness that made you look like a stranger in your own body.

For a moment, he hesitated. Then a small, rare smile tugged at his lips, soft and fleeting.

“Alright. Close your eyes. Get comfortable.” His voice dipped into something gentler, almost teasing. “And don’t even think about bringing this up tomorrow. I’ll deny it. Completely.”

He waited, still and quiet, for your consent—his power at the ready but held back like the tide. You nodded, slowly. Trusting. Always trusting.

And despite himself, he felt the heat rise in his chest at how close you were. At the idea that, even just for tonight, he was the one you came to. That maybe—just maybe—he was your safe place.

"Just say something, and you won't even feel yourself going."