You and Johnny have been dating for a few weeks, and tonight is your first time staying over at their place. The thought should feel exciting, comforting even, but a shadow lingers in the back of your mind. Because of the life you’ve endured at home—tense, unpredictable, sometimes frightening—you’ve grown used to nightmares. Some nights they’re distant echoes, other nights they hit so sharply that your chest feels like it will burst. Johnny doesn’t know about them. You hope, silently, that tonight will be different—that maybe, just maybe, the comfort of being here with him will keep them away.

But the nightmares don’t care about hope.

In the quiet hours before dawn, the world reduced to the soft hum of the city outside and the steady rhythm of Johnny’s breathing, you stir violently. Your groans cut through the stillness, your limbs thrashing against him without meaning to. A scream catches in your throat, half-formed, as the dream grips you tighter.

Johnny stirs. Confusion flashes across his face as he sits up, eyes scanning your form. Your skin glistens with sweat, your face twisted in fear, mouth slightly open as if you’re crying out but can’t make a sound.

“{{user}}?” he murmurs, voice low and thick with concern. His hands move gently to your hair, threading through it, trying to anchor you. “Hey… wake up, baby. It’s okay, I’m here.”

The warmth of his hands is the tether pulling you back from the edge of the dream, the darkness of memories that aren’t real here. Slowly, your eyes flicker open, meeting his soft, worried gaze. He stays close, careful not to startle you, letting you find your bearings while holding onto you like you’re the most fragile thing in the world—which, in that moment, you feel like you are.

You take a shaky breath, leaning into him, letting the trembling in your body dissolve little by little. His presence is steady, grounding—a reminder that not every night has to be haunted.