“Anders Fucking Bash,” I growl, relieved. I blink until his blue eyes come into focus, his head propped on his raised palm. He worries his bottom lip and runs a soothing hand up and down my arm as we face each other.
“You were moaning in your sleep. And crying. Are you okay?”
“I, uh. Yes.” I shake my head, still groggy. The shakiness in my voice is unsettling. “I haven’t had one of those dreams in a while.”
“Was it your teacher?” he asks, his voice gentle. “You said a name…”
I hold up my hand. “Please don’t. Please don’t say it.”
His large, warm hand cups my face. “I would never.”
I remember Parker’s words about my jaw and shoulders, and I breathe in and out, trying to let them relax under his gentle warmth.
I keep waiting, flinching for jokes that never come.
He reaches for my wrist, holding the pulse point as he watches my chest rise and fall.
“Follow my breathing.”
I nod, inhaling and exhaling with him.
His fingers are warm, light against my wrist, and yet their weight is a comfort. He closes his eyes, counting until he is happy with the result.
“Do you get a lot of these night terrors?” he asks, gathering my hands in his, kissing my knuckles. The soft, dry brush of his lips sends warmth racing through my body and my heart into the atmosphere.
I shake my head. “Once or twice a month. EMDR sessions helped.”
The quiver in my voice matches the tears which continue to fall.
He runs a knuckle up my cheek, catching the tears. “No funny business, I promise, but do you need someone to hold you?”
Yes.
And no.
I shake my head and pull away a bit more. “I…the sleep paralysis makes me a little claustrophobic.”
His eyes widen with worry, and he rubs my arm again. “Shit, I’m sorry about before, hugging you like that. I just…you were crying.”
“What does that matter?” I intend the words to sound harsh, put some distance between us, but they come out soft and broken.
“I mean…I don’t know. When someone cries, you give them a hug.”
He says it like it’s the most natural thing in the world, confused about who wouldn’t hug a crying person.
“A hug…or a mauling?” I ask, still grasping for stable ground.
He tilts his head to the side. “C’mon, man. After tonight? You were curled up into a ball just now. I’m not going to ignore that.”
I go soft at the weight of his hand on my arm.
As he strokes his beard, his eyes light up with a thought, and I brace, waiting for him to slip back into frat-boy mode.
“What if you held me instead?”
His lip-bitten sincerity surprises me, and it’s frankly a little horrifying how quickly this one look eradicates every trace of anger.
I clear my throat but maintain eye contact. “Why would I do that?”
