It looks like quiet.
She’s curled up in the big reading chair by the window, legs tucked under her, one bare foot peeking out from the hem of her shorts. She’s wearing those black-rimmed glasses I’ve seen a handful of times when she’s buried in work, and her hair, usually perfect and straight, is pulled into a messy bun with curls escaping like she didn’t bother fighting them this morning.
There’s a mug in her hands, steam still rising, and a tablet resting in her lap, her eyes moving back and forth as she reads, completely absorbed.
For a second, I just stand there and stare.
This isn’t the Brooke everyone else sees. This is soft and quiet and real, and it hits me straight in the chest.
She looks up when she feels me there, blinking behind the glasses. “Oh. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
My voice sticks for a second. “You okay?”
She nods. “Yeah. I just couldn’t sleep anymore, and I didn’t want to wake you.”
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding and cross the room in a few long steps, crouching in front of her, my hands going to her knees without even thinking about it. “You should’ve woken me,” I say quietly.
She gives me a small smile. “You looked like you needed it.”
That does something to me I’m not ready to deal with. I scan her face, her arms, the way she’s holding herself. “Nothing hurts? You dizzy? Headache?”
She shakes her head. “Just sore. And tired. But okay.”
I nod slowly. “What’re you drinking?”
She lifts the mug. “Coffee. I figured if I was already awake, I might as well commit.”
That gets a quiet huff out of me. “Fair.”
She hesitates. “I can make you a cup if you want.”
Before she can even move, I shake my head. “No. You stay right where you are. I can handle my own damn coffee.”
Her mouth twitches. “You’re very bossy this morning.”
“Yeah, and you just survived a nightmare, so you’re not lifting a finger if I can help it.”
She laughs softly and settles back into the chair. “Okay, fine.”
I grab a mug from the cabinet and pour myself a cup, moving through the kitchen like it’s muscle memory. When I come back, I take a sip.
She studies me. “You okay?”
That almost makes me laugh. “Yeah. I just woke up and you weren’t there.”
Her expression softens. “I didn’t go far.”
“Next time, wake me,” I tell her. “I’d rather be tired than wondering where you went.”
She nods. “Okay.”
There’s a pause, the kind that sits heavy but not bad. Then she says softly, “Thank you for staying.”
“There was nowhere else I was going to be.”
Her eyes dip, emotion flickering there, so I shift the moment before it tips.
“You hungry?” I ask. “I can make eggs. Toast. Something simple.”
