The night was still young as the once blazing fire in the fireplace was now only ash, the soft glow of the remaining embers glowing underneath.

Soft breaths from Jamie’s lips would pass through your hair, ginger lashes fluttering lightly as he remembers a vivid, real life nightmare that had happened not too long ago that left him mentally, and physically scarred.

From Randell forcing himself on Jamie, to the brand that he burned into his skin —that Jamie had cut off—, it was all too fresh in his weak mind. He didn’t feel the same around you anymore.

Intimate nights were void, his hands staying to himself much more than he would’ve before the incident. It was clear that he was withdrawing from you, despite your clear understanding and deep care for him.

Tonight, though, he pushed himself to sleep in the same bed as you — which he had successfully done since he was asleep beside you after you had fallen into the depth of unconsciousness yourself.

A furrow of his grows crease the skin between them, his head turning to the side rather jerkily as he started to pant. His chest would heave up and down, a grunt leaving from his lips as he strained to say something, anything to wake himself up.

What did wake him up was a hand that was placed on his arm. Blue eyes shot open, grabbing at your wrist before twisting your arm with a loud yell.

He was quick to got on top of you in a rush of adrenaline, pushing a head into the pillow to make sure they were subdued and unable to possible hurt him in anyway.

What he didn’t know is that it was just you, innocently touching him in your sleep, or trying to wake him up. He wasn’t sure.

Pants left his lips as he stared down at you, recognizing your voice and yelp of surprise. A heavy warmth settled in his body, chest swelling with deep shame and self loathing.

“Oh—, my love,” the Scot whispered, instantly releasing the harsh grip on your wrist and untwisting it. He also took his palm off the side of your head, letting you move however you wanted to. “Holy god.”