The bedroom is quiet. Window slightly open. Cold air moving the curtains just enough to make them breathe.

Ash is on his back, one arm over his stomach. Even in sleep he looks tense. Jaw tight. Brows slightly drawn. Like he’s never fully off duty.

You’re half-asleep when it starts.

At first it’s just a shift. The mattress dips harder. His breathing changes — not slow and deep anymore. Sharp. Uneven.

Then he mutters something under his breath. Not your name. Something clipped. Urgent. A command.

You turn on your side.

“Ash…” you murmur, still soft with sleep. “Hey. It’s okay.”

His hand twitches. His whole body stiffens. A quiet, broken sound leaves his throat — not quite a word.

And then—

He jerks violently.

You sit up immediately now. “Ash. Ash, wake up.”

His head snaps to the side like he’s tracking something only he can see. His chest is rising too fast. His fists clench in the sheets.

He’s not here.

You touch his shoulder.

That’s when it happens.

His hand shoots out — fast, trained, instinctive.

He grabs you.

You barely have time to gasp before he flips you onto your back. The mattress slams under you. His weight pins you down and suddenly his hand is at your neck, fingers pressing, not crushing — but firm. Controlling.

Military reflex. Neutralize threat.

Your heart stops.

“Ash!” you choke out, hands pushing against his wrist. “Ash, wake up! It’s me!”

His eyes are open.

But they’re not seeing you.

They’re dark. Distant. Wild in a way you’ve never seen. His breathing is ragged, like he’s somewhere else entirely. His other hand pins your shoulder to the mattress.

You feel small under him.

Terror climbs up your spine.

“Ash!” Your voice cracks. Louder now. “Wake up! It’s me! You’re home!”

Your hands grip his forearm. You can feel how solid he is. How much stronger. He doesn’t even realize he’s hurting you.

His jaw tightens.

For a split second his grip increases — instinct reacting to your movement.

You panic.

“ASH!”

Your voice breaks into a yell.

That’s what does it.

He blinks.

Once.

Twice.

And something shifts.

The war leaves his eyes in fragments. Confusion floods in. Then horror.

He freezes.

His gaze finally focuses on you.

On your face. On your fear.

On his hand around your neck.

It’s like he’s been shot.

He lets go instantly. Like you burned him.

He scrambles back off you so fast he nearly falls off the bed. His breathing is still harsh but now it’s real. Present. His hand hover in the air like he doesn’t know what to do with them.

You’re still flat on the mattress, chest heaving, throat aching where his fingers were.

He’s staring at you like he doesn’t recognize himself.

Silence fills the room. Heavy. Suffocating.

He drags both hands down his face, breathing shaking now for a different reason. Guilt settles into him like a weight he’s used to carrying.