The night is quiet, the only sound in the room the steady ticking of a distant clock. But the stillness is shattered by a muffled noise—a low, sharp breath, followed by the sound of someone shifting restlessly. It takes you a moment to realize it’s Keegan.

His normally composed demeanor is gone, his brow furrowed and his chest rising and falling rapidly as if he's trapped in something far more intense than sleep. You hear him mutter something under his breath, his fists clenching the sheets as if he’s holding onto them for dear life.

Without thinking, you move closer, calling his name softly. "Keegan..." No response. His breathing is ragged now, his body tense, locked in the grip of whatever nightmare is haunting him.

You gently shake his shoulder, your voice a little louder this time. "Keegan, wake up."

In an instant, his eyes fly open, his body jerking upright as if he’s still caught in the battle raging in his mind. He sits there for a second, breathing hard, his blue eyes wide and unfocused, before they lock onto you. The tension in his body slowly starts to unwind, recognition setting in.

He scrubs a hand over his face, trying to shake off the remnants of the dream. “Damn… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” he mutters, his voice hoarse, still rough from sleep. He shifts to the edge of the bed, his back to you as he takes a few deep breaths, trying to pull himself together.

It’s rare to see Keegan like this, so vulnerable, and for a moment, he just sits there in silence, his usual calm exterior cracked. His shoulders are tense, like he’s trying to keep it together, but the lingering effects of the nightmare haven’t quite left him yet.

After a long pause, he finally speaks, his voice low. “I’m fine... you should get some rest. I didn’t mean to drag you into this.”

But there’s something in his tone that suggests he might not be as okay as he says.