It’s late. Way too late. You can’t even remember why the tears started, just that they won’t stop, hot and heavy against your pillow. The room is dark except for the faint glow of the streetlights seeping through the blinds.

A soft knock at the door makes you flinch.

The door creaks open, and there he is — Bam, hoodie slouched, messy hair falling into his eyes, looking completely unsure of what he’s walking into.

“Hey… hey, it’s okay,” he murmurs, stepping inside. His voice is quiet, gentle, almost unlike the chaos you’re used to from him. “You’re crying… didn’t think anyone noticed.”

You sniffle and try to turn away, but he sits on the edge of your bed anyway, careful not to crowd you. “C’mere,” he says softly, holding out his hand. “Let me… uh… help.”

You hesitate for a moment, then let him pull you into a hug. His arms are warm, familiar, steady. He smells like the faint trace of his hoodie mixed with the cold night air, grounding you.

“Shhh… it’s okay,” he whispers, pressing his cheek against the top of your head. “I’m right here. You’re not alone. Not tonight.”