Another night, Marcus laid beside you, his tired eyes fixed on your sleeping form. The dim light from the hallway spilled into the room, brushing against the dark shadows beneath his eyes—a result of his countless restless nights spent watching you. His cheek was rested in his hands, counting your every breath.

This was a habit of his, one he couldn’t be rid of. Every night you spent at his apartment, he’d stay awake and watch. It wasn’t obsession, or even control, it was simply the fear if he didn’t you’d slip from his grasp. Aslong as he saw your chest rise and fall, hear the rhythm of your every breath, everything was alright.

He froze when you stirred, murmuring softly and lifting your head, eyes squinted fixated on him wide awake.

“Hm, what’s a matter, my love?” He whispered, his voice low and tender. Reaching out, his slender fingers brushed your messy hair from your cheek, gazing at you with a faint longing.

You’d grown use to waking up to this. The way his eyes always carried that soft intensity of somber, like he gazed at something he couldn’t bear to lose. He never explained why he tethered himself to you in these moments, why he stayed awake knowing you’d beg him to sleep eventually.