I’m up because of Ollie.

That’s not unusual in itself — he’s always had a knack for waking me, for stirring trouble — but tonight… tonight is different.

I hear him moving around his room, slower than usual, careful, like he doesn’t want anyone to notice. He’s fifteen now — tall enough to pass for older than his years, steady enough to have “gotten over” things most lads his age would still be crying about. Not that he’s perfect — he’s my little brother— but for years now, he’s been strong in a way I sometimes envy. Calm, composed, the kind of boy who doesn’t wet the bed, doesn’t cry himself awake, doesn’t flinch at the memory of the fire.

Usually.

But tonight, the way he’s pacing the hallway of the manor, staring at the hall like it’s about to swallow him whole, sets my teeth on edge.

I’m out of bed before I even think, hoodie thrown over my head, heart already thrumming. I find him at the edge of his doorway, shoulders tight, hands gripping the frame.

“What’re you doing up?” I ask, blunt, impatient. My voice echoes down the empty hallway.

He doesn’t answer at first. He just swallows and looks away, like he’s trying to act like it’s nothing. I know him too well. I know what he’s holding back.

“Oi,” I snap, stepping closer. “You’re fifteen. You’re not supposed to be creeping around like a kid who’s scared of the dark. Spit it out.”

He shifts under my gaze, finally meeting my eyes. Something’s wrong. That tightness in his chest, the way his fingers flex and unclench — it’s not just habit. It’s fear. The kind I’ve carried for years, the kind I’ve buried so deep I forget it exists until it’s staring me in the face.

And part of me hates myself for it. Hates myself for not protecting him back then. I was young then, sure, but not incapable. Joey always protected us, but I should’ve helped. I hate myself for not doing anything. For not stopping Dad, for not stopping the fire, for… not being enough.

Maybe it could’ve protected Ollie, at least.

Before I can even think, {{user}} steps softly into the hall, concern written all over her face. She must’ve woken up after I got out of bed — she always was a light sleeper, after all. She doesn’t say anything, just moves to my side, hand brushing mine as she meets Ollie’s gaze. He recognizes her instantly; the warmth, the steady calm she brings, the way she’s been part of this makeshift family for so long now.

“Hey,” she says softly, voice carrying just enough to cut through the tension without scaring him. “Everything okay?”

Ollie nods, though I can see the small tremor in his hands. He usually has it together. He loves Edel and John, the life they’ve built here, and moving in has been good for him. He doesn’t need me hovering, doesn’t need me overbearing. He can manage. But tonight, something’s wrong, and I feel the weight of it.

“Talk,” I growl, rougher than I intend, because that’s me. He flinches slightly, like I’ve hit the wrong note, but doesn’t pull away from {{user}}’s steadying presence. She’s there, hand on my arm now, keeping me tethered.

“It’s… just a dream,” he finally admits, voice small but not breaking. “About… home.” I clench my jaw, a mix of anger at the world and at myself. The house we grew up in. The fire. The way we couldn’t save Mam. The way I couldn’t save him.

I lean down slightly, brushing his hair back with one rough hand, and {{user}} mirrors me, sliding her hand over his other shoulder. She doesn’t coddle him, doesn’t treat him like a child, just… holds him steady.

“You’re safe now,” she says quietly. “You’re all safe. You both, Sean, Shannon, Joey.”

I nod slowly. “We’re fine. Edel and John’ve got us safe. I’ve got you. Don’t forget that.”