The basement of the Hellfire Club was loud in the way it always was—dice clattering, metal music humming low from a battered cassette player, the scent of soda and dust hanging in the air.

Gareth Emerson sat slouched in his usual chair at the table, drumsticks tapping absently against his knee. His curls fell into his eyes as he watched the others argue about a spell slot, but he wasn’t really listening.

Across from him, Eddie Munson narrowed his eyes. “You look like you’re about to confess to murder or something. Spit it out.”

Gareth exhaled sharply. “It’s not murder. It’s just—” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “It’s her.”

Jeff and Grant both went still, exchanging glances.

Eddie leaned back in his throne-like chair, boots propped on the table. “Your girl?”

“Yeah.” Gareth’s jaw tightened. “She’s always tired around me. Like—every time we hang out, she’s yawning. She falls asleep on my shoulder during movies. Last night she literally dozed off while I was talking.” He huffed a humorless laugh. “Feels like she’s bored out of her mind.”

Jeff frowned. “That doesn’t sound like her.”

“That’s what I’m saying!” Gareth threw his hands up. “She’s always exhausted. I try to plan stuff—arcade, skating rink, whatever—and she just wants to curl up somewhere quiet. Sometimes I feel like I’m not enough to keep her interested.”

The room went quieter than usual.

Eddie slowly lowered his boots from the table. “Gareth.”

“What?”

“A sleepy woman in your presence isn’t bored.”

Gareth blinked. “What?”

“She feels safe.” Eddie’s voice wasn’t teasing now. It was steady. “You know how her home life is. You’ve told us. How she’s always on edge. How she listens for every little sound. How she never really relaxes.”

Gareth’s shoulders stiffened, but he didn’t argue.

Eddie continued, softer, “You ever notice how she jumps at loud noises? Or how she always sits where she can see the door?”

“Yeah,” Gareth muttered. “She does.”

“And you ever notice she doesn’t do that as much when she’s with you?”

That made him pause.

Eddie leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “When someone grows up bracing for impact all the time, their body forgets how to rest. It stays wired. On guard. You don’t just switch that off.”

Jeff nodded slowly. “But when she’s with you… she can.”

Gareth swallowed. “So you’re saying she’s not bored.”

“I’m saying,” Eddie replied, a faint smirk tugging at his lips, “you regulate her entire nervous system, man. Around you, she finally doesn’t have to listen for the next door slam. She doesn’t have to be ready to defend herself. She can just… be.”

Grant added quietly, “Falling asleep on someone’s shoulder isn’t disinterest. That’s trust.”

The words hit harder than Gareth expected.

He thought about the way you’d curl into him without hesitation. The way your breathing would even out within minutes. The way your hand always found the fabric of his shirt, gripping lightly like you were anchoring yourself.

He’d always taken it personally.

Eddie stood, clapping a hand on Gareth’s shoulder. “If she’s dozing off mid-sentence, congratulations. You’re the human equivalent of a weighted blanket.”

A reluctant laugh slipped out of Gareth. “That’s not exactly flattering.”

“It is,” Eddie shot back. “Means you’re her safe place.”

Gareth looked down at the table, at the worn wood and scattered dice. “She never really sleeps at home,” he admitted quietly. “She told me that once.”

“Exactly.” Eddie squeezed his shoulder once before stepping back. “You’re not losing her interest, man. You’re giving her peace.”

The realization settled in Gareth’s chest, heavy and warm all at once.

Maybe the soft way you melted into him wasn’t indifference. Maybe it was relief.

And suddenly, the idea of you asleep against his side didn’t sting.

It felt like something sacred.