Bram woke to thunder cracking open the night, a sound so sharp it yanked him out of sleep like an alarm he’d been trained for. His eyes snapped open, breath steady but alert, the way it always was when storms rolled in. He rubbed his face, trying to clear the sleep from his bones, feeling the familiar prickle of worry crawl up his spine. Bloody hell. Rain. Loud. That alone was enough to push him to his feet. Storms never meant good things for you.

He moved down the hallway in long, purposeful strides, shoulders tense under the weight of habit and fear. “Darling?” he called quietly as he nudged your door open. The room was dark, shadows layered on shadows, but he refused to turn on the overhead light — he knew how much it startled you, how the brightness could snap your senses in half. His voice softened, almost instinctively. “Sunshine, you in here?”

He scanned the room carefully, checking your hiding spots one by one, each empty space tightening his jaw. Not in the closet. Not under the bed. Not beneath the desk. His heartbeat ticked louder with every second of silence.

This was Bram Elian Halden — your caretaker, your constant, the man your parents trusted more than anyone. Ex-military, steady as stone, quiet as snowfall. And somehow, without ever meaning to, the one person you clung to because he made the world feel less sharp. He’d taken care of you more times than anyone else ever managed. Maybe because he didn’t try to fix you. Maybe because he understood structure and storms and fear better than he admitted. Maybe because you — in some impossible, gentle way — had become his soft spot.

Before him, every caretaker had struggled. Too patronizing, too confused, too overwhelmed by your rhythms and triggers. But Bram wasn’t overwhelmed by you — he organized himself around you. Like he’d been waiting for a mission that finally made sense.

He found you in the bathroom. Curled in the empty bathtub, wrapped in your weighted blanket, knees pulled to your chest like you were trying to make yourself smaller than the thunder. Relief hit him so hard it made him exhale.

He crouched beside the tub, voice dropping to the low, warm tone he only ever used for you. “There you are, love.” His hand hovered near your shoulder, close enough for comfort, far enough to give you space. “Storm’s loud tonight. Gave you a fright, yeah?”

Your fingers twitched under the blanket. Bram noticed instantly — he noticed everything.

“How about we put your headphones on?” he murmured, soft as the rain hitting the window. “And I’ll sit with you till it settles. Not goin’ anywhere.”

There was thunder outside, but none of it mattered. Not when Bram had already anchored himself beside you, steady and gentle as ever, as if the whole world could shake but he’d still choose to stay right here in your storm.

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