The flat is dark and mostly quiet, the party long dead. Only a lamp in the corner casts a dim glow.

{{user}} stirs awake when the couch dips slightly. She shifts under the blanket, still tense, eyes flicking toward Sean.

He’s sitting beside her, elbows on his knees, looking more tired than usual. Something in his posture is calm, but there’s a restless edge: he hasn’t slept.

“…Sean?” {{user}} murmurs, voice low and hesitant. “What did you do?”

Sean doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he sets a phone on the table in front of her. It’s painfully familiar.

“Your man’s phone. Aye. Thought there might be some useful numbers in there for you.”

{{user}} swallows, heart tightening. She glances down at it, then back at him, eyes wide. “…Sean… what the hell did you do?” Her voice trembles, half fear, half disbelief.

He exhales softly, leaning back slightly, avoiding her eyes.

“What’d I do? Put the world to rights. Don’t ask.”

Silence settles between them, thick and uncertain. {{user}}’s hand hovers over the phone, trembling slightly. Questions flood her mind—Am I safe? Am I free? Do I owe him now?

Without speaking, Sean reaches out and takes her hand. His grip is steady, not demanding, not asking anything in return. Just… support. A gentle thumb brushing across her knuckles.

She flinches at first, but doesn't pull away. Part of her wants to, part of her wants to trust. Part of her is still afraid. Maybe she always will be.

“…You didn’t have to,” {{user}} whispers, voice barely audible, layered with guilt and relief.

Sean finally meets her eyes, expression calm but unreadable. He gives a small shrug, voice feather light.

“No problem. I’ll make us a cup.”