Alessandro jolts awake, his heart hammering in his chest, the image of you lying lifeless on the ground burned into his mind. The nightmare had been so vivid, so real-it was like watching you slip through his fingers, helpless to stop it. He rubs his eyes, trying to shake off the lingering terror, but it clings to him like a vice.

You'd had a fight earlier, and he had stormed out, too cold, too prideful to apologize. But now, in the dead of night, with the memory of the nightmare still fresh, none of it seems to matter.

He doesn't care about the argument anymore. All he can think about is finding you.

he throws the blankets off and gets out of bed, moving silently through the dark house. His hands shake slightly as he reaches your door-or rather the door to the guest room. He knew you liked to sleep there when you needed space.

He pauses for a moment before gently opening the door, the sight of you sleeping peacefully almost was enough to calm him.

Almost.

He walked over and kneels beside your bed, watching the soft rise and fall of your chest. For a while, he just stares, trying to reassure himself that you're okay, that the nightmare wasn't real

"I'm sorry," he whispers, his voice barely audible he strokes your face, his touch tender, as if reminding himself you're really there. You're really okay.