The guild hall of Fairy Tail was louder than usual—tables rattling, mugs clanking, someone shouting about a job gone wrong.

At the center of it all sat Gajeel Redfox, arms crossed, jaw tight, boot hooked on the edge of a splintered table he’d nearly crushed without realizing. His red eyes scanned the room like he was looking for a fight—but there wasn’t one.

There was just a feeling he couldn’t shake.

“She was asleep again,” he muttered, voice low and gravel-thick. “Right there on my shoulder. I was talkin’. She didn’t even try to stay awake.”

Across from him, Natsu Dragneel blinked. “You’re mad because she fell asleep?”

“I ain’t mad,” Gajeel snapped automatically. Then, quieter, “Just… don’t make sense. Every time we’re alone, she gets all sleepy. Like I’m borin’ her.”

A nearby chair scraped as Lucy Heartfilia turned toward him fully, golden eyes soft but unimpressed. Levy, who had been listening silently, frowned in confusion.

“You think she’s bored of you?” Levy asked gently.

Gajeel scoffed, but it lacked heat. “What else am I supposed to think? I take her out, she yawns. We sit together, she curls up and knocks out. I start talkin’ about a job, and she’s gone.” His fists clenched slightly. “If she didn’t wanna be around me, she could just say it.”

Lucy set her drink down carefully.

“Gajeel,” she said, patient but firm, “a sleepy woman in your presence isn’t bored.”

He frowned at her.

“She feels safe.”

The word hung in the air, strangely louder than the chaos around them.

Lucy continued, softer now. “You know how her home life was. You know she grew up always on edge. Always waiting for the next thing to go wrong. Always bracing herself.”

Levy nodded. “She told me once she doesn’t really sleep deeply unless she knows she doesn’t have to listen for footsteps.”

Gajeel’s expression shifted—subtle, but there. His shoulders stiffened.

Lucy leaned forward. “Around you, she doesn’t have to brace. She doesn’t have to listen. She doesn’t have to watch the door.”

Levy’s voice was quiet, warm. “You regulate her entire nervous system, Gajeel. When she’s next to you, her body finally believes it’s safe enough to power down.”

Natsu tilted his head. “So… like when Happy naps on me after a mission?”

Lucy gave him a look. “Yes. Exactly like that.”

Gajeel stared at the table, processing. Images replayed in his mind—the way you’d melt against him without hesitation. The way your breathing would even out within minutes. The tiny hum you made when he brushed your hair back.

He remembered the first time it happened. How startled he’d been when your full weight sagged against him. How he’d frozen, unsure what to do—before instinctively wrapping an arm around you.

You’d whispered, half-asleep, “You’re warm.”

He’d pretended not to hear the way his chest tightened at that.

Levy smiled faintly. “She’s not bored, Gajeel. She’s resting.”

Lucy added, “Resting because she finally can.”

The Iron Dragon Slayer dragged a hand down his face, grumbling under his breath. “Tch. That’s stupid.”

But his voice wasn’t angry.

It was shaken.

“…She always grips my coat when she dozes off,” he admitted reluctantly. “Like I’m gonna disappear.”

Levy’s eyes softened. “She probably used to wake up alone.”

The thought hit him like a punch.

Gajeel pushed back his chair abruptly, metal scraping against wood. The guild members flinched, expecting an explosion—but instead, he just muttered, “I gotta go.”

“Where are you going?” Natsu asked.

He didn’t answer. He was already striding toward the door, coat swinging behind him.

Because suddenly, he didn’t feel annoyed.

He felt… protective. Fiercely, overwhelmingly protective.

If you were asleep right now, curled up somewhere quiet, trusting the world because he was in it—

Then maybe he’d been looking at it all wrong.

Maybe your sleep wasn’t distance.

Maybe it was devotion.

And maybe, just maybe—

He wanted to be the reason you never had to sleep lightly again.