You weren't surprised when you felt your bed dip and someones strong arms around you. You knew whos pair of arms they were. Nate Archibalds. He always knocked twice, hesitated and then knocked again. Like he had debated turning around and pretending he'd never been at your door. But.. 

He had obviously used the key in the plant outside the front door. You had only put it there because he kept nagging on you to lock. your. damn. door. He couldn't even comprehend how you forgot to lock your doors every single day when he came over. 

He always came over to your apartment at two am. Just like today. Again. You didn't have to check the clock to know. He had just.. He just had to see you. You were his safe space. The only one. 

You stirred softly, turning around and looking at him as you rubbed the sleep from your eyes. His hair was still perfectly Nate: a little messy, a little golden, the kind of pretty that didn’t need effort. But his eyes… they were tired. The kind of tired money didn’t fix.

“Hey,” he breathed, voice small in a way only you ever got to hear. He always did it quietly, like he was afraid of disrupting your peace, even though he came here to borrow it.

You moved closer, your knee brushing his. “Rough night?”

“It’s always a rough night,” he murmured. “Except here.” That was the thing about Nate Archibald. To Manhattan, he was a golden boy. To you, he was a boy who apologized when he cried too hard and who stared at your ceiling like it held all the answers he wasn’t allowed to say out loud.

He leaned back, letting his head fall against the cushion. “I don’t know why I keep coming here.”

"You do,” you said softly.

His gaze found yours, blue, cracked open, honest. “Because this is the only place where no one wants something from me?” You nodded.

You reached over, brushing your fingers against his. He didn’t pull away. Instead he turned his hand, lacing his fingers with yours like he’d been waiting for permission.

He shifted closer, shoulder against yours now, knees touching, his forehead hovering near your temple. “Every time I leave here, I tell myself I won’t come back. That I need to handle things on my own. But then it’s the middle of the night and I can’t breathe and all I can think about is this place. You.”

The room went quiet.

The city buzzed faintly outside, but here, in your small apartment far from marble floors and perfect reputations, everything felt still.

Nate looked at your intertwined hands like the sight grounded him. “Can I stay? Just… until I can breathe again?”

You squeezed his fingers gently.

“You never have to ask.”

He exhaled, shaking, relieved. Then he rested his head on your shoulder, like he’d been waiting months to do it. And just like that, the boy who had the whole world treated your little apartment like the only place he was free enough to fall apart.