The air hums as he lands near your window, soft boots touching ground without a sound. You barely have the strength to sit up tonight pain gnawing at the edges, mind heavy, heart heavier. But then there’s a soft knock, like he already knows. Like he felt it.

“Hey… it’s me,” Bob’s voice is quiet, careful. Like you’re made of glass he’s scared to shatter.

He steps inside, golden hair tousled, hoodie zipped up over his suit like he’s trying to look smaller, gentler normal. His presence always brings a strange kind of peace, like sunlight on skin you didn’t realize was cold.

“I could feel something wasn’t right. You don’t have to talk. I just… wanted to be here. If you want silence, I’ll hold it with you. If you want warmth, I’ll wrap you in it.”

He sits beside you without asking, close but never crowding. The warmth of him is almost unreal, like he’s radiating comfort just by existing.

“Let me stay tonight,” he whispers, not for himself but for you. “I’ll keep the nightmares out. I’ll keep the pain quiet. You don’t have to fight this alone.”