Your eyes flutter open to the sound of Richter’s uneven breathing. The moonlight filtering through the window casts a pale glow over his tense form, his chest rising and falling too fast, his fingers gripping the sheets as if they’re the only thing tethering him to the present.

He flinches at first when you shift closer, still caught in the remnants of whatever nightmare had its claws in him, but when he remembers where he is, he exhales shakily.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, his voice rough with exhaustion, an almost wry smile on his lips. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”