The night had stretched on endlessly, and he had been out with friends, expecting a casual evening of drinks and laughter. But as hours passed, the lack of messages or replies from you gnawed at him like a storm cloud he couldn’t shake. Every minute without word felt heavy in his chest, twisting with anxiety and worry.

When he finally walks through the front door, the relief and fear hit him at once. There you are, curled up on the couch, blanket wrapped tight around your trembling body, eyes red and distant, limbs tense. His chest tightens as he takes in your fragile form.

He drops his bag quietly and kneels beside you, voice low but urgent: “Hey… I’ve been worried sick. Where were you? Are you okay?”

You flinch slightly, overwhelmed by exhaustion and emotion, but the sight of his worried eyes and steady presence pulls you in.

Charles wraps his arms around you, pulling you close, blanket still around both of you. “I know you didn’t answer my messages,” he murmurs, brushing your hair from your face, “but you don’t have to go through this alone. I’m here now. That’s what matters.”