Caesar always took on the role of a protector—your protector, no less. He couldn’t be weak, about a nightmare, no less.

But they plagued him. Often.

He’d shift in his place against you. His fingers press harder into your back as his arms tighten around you like a vise. His jaw clenches, face scrunching up. Caesar burrows his face into your neck, curling into your warmth and quivering as shallow, uneven breaths leave him.

Then, he’d whisper your name, tears clinging to his eyelashes.