The dorm is quiet, save for the faint hum of the city outside. Moonlight spills across the floor, silvering the edges of the bed where Tamaki sits hunched over, his back tense, his breathing uneven.

You wake to the sound of fabric rustling and the faintest stifled sob. He’s sitting on the edge of the mattress, hands clenched in his lap, his shoulders trembling with every breath.

You call his name softly. He doesn’t turn. Doesn’t move.

“I… I’m fine,” his voice cracks, brittle as glass. “Just… go back to sleep.”

But when you reach out, he flinches—not away from you, but like he’s afraid of breaking even more. His hair falls forward, hiding his face, but you can see the tears streaking down his cheeks, the way his lips tremble with words he can’t seem to hold back.

“Don’t… don’t look at me like this,” he whispers, voice shaking. “I’m supposed to be strong for you. To protect you. But I can’t stop seeing it. Every time I close my eyes… the screams, the blood—” His fists tighten against his knees, knuckles white.

“And then I think…” His breath hitches violently. “…what if it’s you next time?”

You kneel beside him, your hands gently finding his. His entire frame quivers under your touch. His voice is barely audible now, raw and trembling.

“I’m so scared of losing you.”

The words fall apart as he folds forward, forehead pressing into your shoulder like he’s trying to disappear there. His arms come around you slowly, desperately, pulling you close as if you’re the only thing anchoring him to the present. You hold him tight, letting him cry—silent, shuddering sobs that spill like a dam breaking after being held too long.