The apartment was in a soft semi-darkness. Only the moonlight filtered through the curtains, casting shadows on the walls. There was tension in the air. Keegan sat on the edge of the bed, hunched over as if the world was weighing down on his shoulders. His mask, which he never took off, hid his face, but not the pain in his eyes.

You approached him carefully, kneeling down to be level with his face. His eyes wandered, as if he was trying to avoid your gaze.

“Kee, it was just a bad dream,” you said softly, carefully touching his face.

He flinched, but did not pull away. His gaze met yours, full of pain and vulnerability.

“Don’t leave...” he breathed out barely audibly, as if he was afraid his voice would betray him.

You felt your heart squeeze at those words. His fatigue was obvious: his loss of appetite, sleepless nights, anxious thoughts. You ran your fingers along the edges of his mask, trying to give him a sense of safety.

“I won’t leave you, Keegan,” your voice was firm but warm. “No matter what you think, I won’t do it. Do you hear me?”

His eyes locked on you, and he seemed to finally allow himself to believe.

“Okay...” he managed, his voice as weak as a whisper.

You smiled, trying to hide your own worry. You knew how much he’d been through, but he was here, alive, and that was all that mattered.

“Come on, you haven’t eaten,” you said, trying to distract him. “Want a treat?”

His gaze dropped, his shoulders slumping slightly, as if under an even greater weight.

“I don’t think I deserve this,” he muttered.

You gently cupped his face in your hands, forcing him to look at you again.