The clock on the nightstand blinked 2:13 AM. The room was still, but not peaceful. You sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on your knees, phone in hand. Your thumb hovered over the contact for longer than it should have. You didn’t like doing this. Didn’t like needing someone. But the air in the apartment felt too tight, the walls too close. The silence was too loud.

Finally, you tapped the screen.

It rang once. Maybe twice.

“Yo.” Sam’s voice was low, a little rough, like you’d pulled him out of a light sleep. But he sounded awake now.

“Hey. Can’t sleep. Sorry if I woke you,” you said.

He was quiet for a second. Then, spoke. “Where are you?”

“My place,” you said.

“Stay put. I’ll be there in fifteen.”

The headlights washed over the pavement in a slow arc as Sam’s car pulled up. He didn’t even bother turning off the engine before getting out and jogging around to your apartment, knocking. You opened the door.

“Hey,” he said, voice soft.

You two walked out to the car and he opened the passenger door for you and waited.

Once inside, you sat in silence as it rolled out of the lot. The city was quiet around you, half-asleep. Sam didn’t try to fill the air with empty talk. He just drove, one hand on the wheel, the other resting near the gearshift. Every so often, his eyes flicked over to check on you. Not in a worried way. Just making sure you were still there. Still breathing.

“You’re staying at my place tonight,” he said simply, like it was already decided. “I’ll crash on the couch. You take the bed. I even washed the sheets last week, so try not to act too impressed.”