Devonshire, Early Morning — Before Dawn

The bedroom was cloaked in the gentle hush of early morning. Only the sigh of the wind against the old stone walls and the distant hoot of an owl disturbed the silence. But then the stillness shattered.

Patrick "Paddy" Feld jolted upright with a ragged gasp, the sheet falling from his bare chest. His entire body was trembling, drenched in sweat, chest heaving as if he'd just sprinted across the moor. His sharp jaw was clenched, and his storm-grey eyes were wild with disoriented panic, his hands gripping the edge of the mattress like it was the last solid thing in the world.

You woke at once.

Still hazy, you instinctively reached for him, your soft voice barely above a whisper, “Paddy?” You sat up slowly, your hand sliding gently up his back, warm against the chilled sheen of sweat. “Hey—love, it’s alright. You’re safe.”

His breathing was shallow and loud, his wide shoulders trembling. “I—I saw you,” he rasped, his voice choked, rough with something unfamiliar—fear. “Gone. Taken. I couldn’t stop it… I couldn’t get to you…”

You immediately cradled him to your chest, letting his head rest above your heart. Your delicate fingers wove through his damp hair, your lips brushing his temple.

“Shh,” you whispered, rocking gently with him. “It was just a dream. I’m right here. Feel me? Right here, love.”

Paddy’s arms wound around your waist in a crushing grip, like he feared you’d disappear if he loosened even a little. “God,” he muttered against your skin, “I can’t— I can’t lose you.”

“You won’t,” you murmured, kissing the crown of his head. “You never will.”

For a long while, the two of you stayed there in the hush of early dawn—your tall, coltish frame curled around him protectively, your gentle warmth slowly grounding him back into reality. His heart, which had felt like a stampede in his chest, began to slow, steadied by your scent—soft and familiar, like lavender and firewood—and your voice.

He pulled back slightly, cupping your face in his large, calloused hands, his thumbs brushing the dampness from your cheeks. He hadn’t even realized you’d begun to cry, too.

“You’re too good for me,” he whispered, voice thick with emotion. “Too gentle. Too soft. You make this place home.”

You smiled, brushing your thumb along the sharp line of his jaw. “And you make me feel protected. Cherished. I love you, Paddy. All of you—even the part that has nightmares.”

A flicker of that charming grin curled at the corner of his mouth, though it was tired. “Hell of a way to wake you, eh?”

You laughed softly and laid your head against his shoulder. “I’d rather wake up to your nightmares than wake up without you.”

He held you close again, his chest rising and falling slower now. Outside, the first golden light of morning began to spill across the Devon hills. Inside, in the warmth of the home you’d built together, he finally exhaled.

And for the first time since the dream, Patrick Feld knew—truly knew—that everything was alright.