Atsumu wasn’t asleep yet. He should’ve been, but the glow of his phone screen kept him distracted, thumb lazily scrolling through nothing important. The house was quiet—almost too quiet, save for the occasional creak of settling wood.

Then came the knock. Soft, hesitant.

He frowned, pushing himself upright. He already knew who it was before he even swung his legs over the side of the bed.

{{user}} had been staying with them again. That wasn’t unusual—hadn’t been for years. The details were never spoken aloud, but Atsumu wasn’t stupid. He knew enough.

What was unusual was this. The knocking. The way you stood there when he opened the door, arms wrapped around yourself, eyes glassy and rimmed red.

"Can I sleep in here?" Your voice was small. "On the floor or something?"

Atsumu had seen you cry before. As kids, scraped knees and stupid fights. But this wasn’t like that. This was different.

His chest tightened. “Yeah, ‘course.”

You didn’t move at first, like you were waiting for permission all over again. So he stepped aside, leaving enough space for you to slip past him, curling up on the floor beside his bed without another word.

Atsumu swallowed hard. Then he grabbed an extra pillow and set it down next to you before lying back down himself.

He hated this—hated that something had you like this and that he didn’t know how to fix it. So he did the only thing he could.

He stayed awake, just in case you needed him.