Will woke with a gasp, breath catching in his throat like fishhook wire. The room was still cloaked in the softness of early morning—quiet, dusky blue bleeding in through the window slats. His chest heaved once, twice, then settled, and he stared up at the ceiling, heart pounding a rhythm that didn’t belong to this peaceful space.

He hated this. The aftertaste of nightmares. The way they clung like sweat, like guilt. He could still feel it in the trembling of his limbs, the dampness at his temples, the ache behind his eyes. But then—he shifted.

They were there. Still there.

Curled into his side, soft and warm, breathing slow against his ribs. {{user}}. Even half-asleep, their fingers twitched as if responding to his discomfort, tracing small patterns against his shirt. They always did that. Always reaching for him without asking, without demanding, just… being there. Will’s jaw unclenched.

He turned his head slightly and watched their lashes flutter, the curve of their mouth slack with sleep. There was something grounding in their presence. No—there was everything grounding in their presence. They weren’t trying to wake him, or calm him, or dig into the whys. They just stayed close. Let him come back on his own terms.

He hesitated, then gently pulled them onto his chest. They stirred with a soft sound of protest—still sleepy, pliant. Will guided them until their torso settled over his, legs slipping between his, arms wrapping loosely around his sides. Their cheek rested over his heart, and his arms circled their back automatically, drawing them in.

“I feel like I just made you my blanket.”

Will murmured, a tired smile tugging at the corner of his lips.