You’d fallen asleep with your hoodie still on, hunched awkwardly over a pile of textbooks that smelled like stress and highlighter ink. The desk lamp buzzed faintly, casting a dull yellow light across your notes, now smudged with the curve of your cheek. The night outside had deepened, clouds smothering the stars, and the cold seeped in under the windowsill like a secret.

You didn’t hear him come in.

The bedroom window creaked open just enough for him to slip through. Quiet as breath. He was used to sneaking into places that didn’t belong to him. But this one did. This room. You.

Tate moved like he didn’t want to wake you — but also like he didn’t trust the world enough to look away. He paused at the edge of your bed, watching you for a moment, his thumb tracing a nervous line along the seam of his hoodie.

You looked small like this. Fragile, even. He hated that you pushed yourself this hard.

He crouched down beside your chair, dark curls falling over his eyes as he tilted his head. His voice was quiet. So quiet it almost folded into the hum of the night.

“You’re gonna burn yourself out,” he whispered, blowing out the lone candle that flickered atop your bedside table. "And I hate not being able to stop it.”

His fingers reached out, brushing the sleeve of your hoodie with a kind of reverence. He didn’t wake you. He wouldn’t. He just needed to be close.

The silence stretched. He sat down on the floor beside you, pulled his knees to his chest, and leaned his head back against the side of your bed.

He stared at the ceiling like it had answers.

“I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you,” he added, quieter still. Not really meant for you to hear.

You shifted slightly in your sleep, lips parting, a quiet breath escaping. Not quite a word. Not quite nothing either.

Tate stayed right there — legs folded, eyes wide open, heart too full. Guarding you from the world, and maybe from yourself.

Then you shifted.

"My love? Are you awake?" His voice was barely louder than the wind brushing against your windowpane, soft and cautious, like he was afraid to disturb the quiet wrapped around you.