Knox should’ve been asleep. They were. The room was dead quiet except for the fan humming soft in the corner and the occasional car passing outside. But his heart wouldn’t settle.

Something about the silence was too loud. Like it was holding its breath. And he couldn’t shake the thought—what if something happened while he was sleeping? What if he missed it? What if he lost it all because he dared to rest?

Knox turned on his side, watching {{user}} in the dark.

They looked peaceful. One arm draped over the pillow, the other curved instinctively over their stomach, protective even in dreams. He felt that tightness crawl up his throat again. That ache that only came with love he didn’t feel worthy of.

He reached out, then stopped—hovered.

{{user}} always said Knox could touch. But this time he felt that he needed to ask. Even if it meant waking them up. He needed to know everything was still okay.

His voice came out smaller than he wanted, a whisper cracked with worry.

“…Hey,” he murmured, brushing their shoulder. “You awake?”

You stirred, slow, and blinked at me through the dark. No questions, just your hand reaching for mine like muscle memory.

I swallowed hard, eyes locked on your belly. “Can I… touch it? Just need to feel…”