He takes one step closer, slow and deliberate, like he’s approaching something wounded and dangerous.
“You are safe,” he says.
The words land wrong. Too close to something that once meant comfort and now only means absence.
“I know,” I say, sharper than I intend.
He pauses, adjusting course without comment. That, at least, is something he’s good at.
“You were breathing fast,” he says instead. “Your pulse spiked. Then broke.”
I laugh once, brittle and humorless. “Congratulations. You noticed.”
His brow furrows, but he doesn’t retreat. He lowers himself into a crouch a careful distance away. Present without claiming space.
“I thought there was a threat,” he says, glancing out at the desert beyond our meager shelter. “There wasn’t.”
“No,” I say. “It’s fine.”
The words slip out before I can stop them. They echo between us, heavier than I want.
He studies my face, not my hands, my eyes. Like he’s learned where the truth leaks out first.
“Dreams can wound,” he says.
Something tightens in my chest and the shields comes up automatically, practiced and fast.
“Save the philosophy,” I snap. “I don’t need comfort.”
“I wasn’t offering comfort,” he replies evenly. “I was offering presence.”
That’s worse.
I push myself to my feet too quickly, the world tilting for half a breath before I steady. I turn away, pacing a few steps across the small pocket of shade, arms folded tight across my chest.
“Don’t,” I say.
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t do that,” I repeat. “Don’t stand there like you can fix something just by staying.”
He rises slowly, giving me space but not distance.
“I am not trying to fix you.”
“That’s what they always say,” I mutter.
He goes still. I didn’t mean to say that. Or maybe I did. Maybe part of me wanted to see if he’d flinch. He doesn’t.
“I am here because you woke afraid,” he says. “That is all.”
I shake my head, anger flaring hot and sudden, fueled by something old and raw.
“That’s never all. It never stays that simple.”
His gaze sharpens. “You think I will leave.”
The certainty in his voice knocks the breath from me.
