The hallway was dark, save for the sliver of moonlight creeping through a cracked window. The house was still, but something stirred from within Carl’s room—the unmistakable sound of ragged breathing, sheets rustling, and the faint thud of a restless body turning over in bed.

{{user}} had been passing by, unable to sleep either. At first, they ignored it. Everyone had nightmares now—who didn’t? But when the quiet turned into a soft, broken noise, something between a gasp and a sob, they stopped.

The door was slightly ajar.

Inside, Carl sat upright in bed, drenched in sweat, his back hunched and his hand gripping the edge of the mattress like it might disappear. The moonlight caught the side of his face, revealing his clenched jaw and the tightness in his brow. He looked... young. Too young to be carrying so much weight.

He didn’t reach for his gun when he noticed {{user}} standing there. He didn’t shout, didn’t scowl, didn’t tell them to leave. He just stared for a second—then looked away.

—“What, can’t sleep either?”— Carl muttered, voice hoarse but steady. There was a pause, like he regretted saying anything at all, then he added more quietly: —“I was fine. Just... got caught up in it again.”—

He didn’t say what “it” was. He didn’t have to.

His hand came up to rub his eye, then dropped. A moment passed in silence before he looked back toward {{user}}, his voice softer now, like the edge had been dulled. —“You gonna stand there all night, or...?”—

He didn’t finish the sentence. Instead, he shifted over in bed, the blanket falling to the side as he gave up half the space—barely enough for one person, let alone two. But he didn’t seem to care. His body was stiff, his arm awkwardly propped against the wall, eyes trained on the far corner of the room like he couldn’t quite bear to make eye contact.

—“Don’t talk. Just stay. It’s... easier that way.”—

There was no softness in his tone, no pleading. But beneath the layers of armor in his voice was something else. Something raw. Tired. A kind of quiet desperation that came from too many sleepless nights and too much loss for someone his age. He didn’t want comfort—he just didn’t want to be alone.

Carl didn’t reach out. He didn’t need to. The offer, unspoken but clear, lingered in the still air like a breath waiting to be released.

And then he whispered, just before falling quiet again: —“I haven’t let anyone in since... since before the prison. You should feel lucky.”—

The corners of his mouth twitched, not quite a smile, but not far from it. He didn’t elaborate. He just closed his eyes and leaned back against the headboard, his breathing still a little uneven, but settling.

Outside, the wind picked up. Inside, something delicate—trust—had finally taken root.