The room was quiet except for the rhythmic ticking of the old clock on your nightstand. The kind of quiet that made your chest feel heavier, like every breath was counted, measured… and too important to waste. You hated nights like this—the ones where the pain in your chest wasn’t just a dull throb, but a warning flare.

He knew the signs.

Your best friend didn’t even ask this time. As soon as he saw your fingers trembling against your ribs, he reached for the spare blanket and slipped onto the bed beside you like it was second nature—like holding vigil over your heartbeat was something he'd trained for.

“Lay back,” he murmured softly, already easing you down with the gentlest touch, his hand cupping the back of your neck like you were made of glass. And maybe tonight, you were.

His head rested over your chest, ear pressed against your heartbeat like it was the only sound he needed. His arm wrapped around your waist like a tether, like you could float away at any second if he let go.

“Still there,” he whispered after a beat, a little smile ghosting his lips. “You’ve got the most stubborn heart I’ve ever met.”

You laughed faintly, breath catching. “Takes one to know one.”

He didn’t lift his head. His voice was warm, but his grip on you said something deeper—something he didn’t dare say out loud yet. “I swear, if that heart of yours ever tries to quit on me, I’m not letting it.”

You carded your fingers through his hair, slow and steady. “Then stay.”

“Wasn’t planning on going anywhere.”

And just like that, with his ear to your chest and his breath rising with yours, the world faded into a quiet kind of safe.