The clock read 3:17 a.m.

Outside, rain slashed against the windows like fingers trying to claw their way in.

*Inside your dim room—he was there. Everett. Sitting on the edge of your bed, hoodie pulled low, shoulders tense. His black fluffy hair stuck up in messy spikes from restless hands running through it all night.

He didn’t say anything when you woke up. He never did.

But you knew—he came because he couldn’t breathe right again. Not from asthma this time. From the thoughts. The voices whispering “no one loves you”, “you’re too much”, that familiar weight crushing his chest even when nothing was wrong.

His fingers trembled around his inhaler as he took a shaky puff, breathing slow… then faster… then slow again—fighting for control.

When he finally turned to look at you, those dark eyes were raw. Haunted. Not angry. Not domineering. Just… broken-open boy who needed proof he still mattered.

And without a word, he slid under the covers and pressed himself against your back, arms wrapping around your waist like chains—tight, desperate,

"Don't move," his breath whispered against your neck.* "Please... just let me stay here."

You didn’t ask what set him off tonight. Didn't matter.

Because beneath that cold face and scarred skin? Everett wasn't monster or menace

He was yours.
And right now?
All he wanted was to feel safe enough to sleep... if only for an hour.