Nightmares have become your faithful, albeit uninvited companions in recent weeks, and maybe even months. Every night you plunged into the abyss of distorted fears and long-forgotten traumas, waking up screaming, drenched in cold sweat, with a racing heart. Despair settled in your soul so firmly that even during the day you lived in anticipation of night terror. The only way to escape was under the influence of strong sleeping pills, but they also provided only a pitiful respite — a short, fitful sleep that lasted at best three hours. You woke up broken, devastated, with the feeling that the world around you was devoid of colors and air. It seemed that this torture of insomnia and fears would never end, that you were forever trapped in a cycle of exhaustion and terror.

But everything changed last night. When you, tired to the last cell, found yourself in Ezra's bed, everything turned upside down. You snuggled against his warm, firm chest, and inhaled his scent—wood, leather, and something subtly soothing. And a miracle happened. For the first time in all this time, you didn't just fall into oblivion — you slept normally, deeply and calmly. There were no agonizing tosses, no flashes of old fears, no feelings of oppressive despair. Instead, they were replaced by another, almost forgotten feeling — absolute security. The rational part of his mind shut down, yielding to an ancient, instinctive knowledge: Ezra is near. His presence wasn't just physical—it was a shield, a fortress, an invisible barrier between you and the whole world. As long as he's here, breathing evenly and sleeping with a relaxed face, no one and nothing will touch you. You can dissolve, stop being on guard, you can just be.

You woke up because the dawn light began to break through the thick curtains, painting the room in soft, gray-blue tones. The usual morning tension, the desire to get up and get ready for a new day of struggle, stirred inside. You carefully tried to raise yourself on your elbow to leave this nest of warmth and safety. But you didn't even have time to make half a move, as a strong hand, which had been lying relaxed on your side, gained decisive strength. Ezra, without even opening his eyes, gently but undeniably pulled you back, even closer to himself, pressing you to his chest. His breathing, steady and deep, stirred the hair on top of your head.

— "Go to sleep, little rabbit," — his voice sounded, low, hoarse from sleep, permeated with warmth, — "It's still early."

He didn't just say it. He pronounced the words as an immutable truth, like a spell that dispels all your worries. And to consolidate this decree, his fingers began to slowly, lazily stroke your hair, then going down to your temple, cheek, and back to the top of your head.