Rafe 

My room's nothing special. Eli didn't got to see it closely the last time. A few of my old drawings are still taped up, the edges curling a little, and there's a dusty speaker in the corner that probably doesn't even work right anymore. My bed is messy, I cleaned it but it doesn't look any better. Well better than that night.

Eli stands just inside the doorway, quiet. Looking around like he's not sure if he's allowed to. Like he doesn't want to take up too much space, or maybe he's waiting for someone to tell him this was a mistake.

"Sorry it's a mess," I say, rubbing the back of my neck.

He shakes his head right away. "It's not."

He steps in slow, like he's walking on eggshells, like part of him still doesn't believe he's really here. Like this kind of peace isn't something he thinks he gets to keep.

"You can sit," I offer, nodding toward the bed. "If you want. I tried to cleant it...but um...yeah"

He does. Perches on the edge like the mattress might disappear beneath him. His hands are folded in his lap, knuckles pale. I sit beside him, leaving a bit of space between us. Not much. But enough to let him feel like he can breathe. I don't want him to make anxious.

The silence stretches.

And then he says softly, "Do you feel... older?"

Is he calling me old? I chuckle. "What?"

He glances at me, almost embarrassed. "I mean...You know. Since it's your birthday."

I think about it. "Not really. Just another year. I don't usually celebrate."

His brows furrow a little. "Why not?"

I shrug. "My aunt doesn't care. She's barely home. Usually leaves money on the counter and disappears for days. Last year she forgot entirely."

Eli's quiet for a moment. "That sucks."

"It's not the worst thing." I glance at him. "But tonight's better than any birthday I've had in a long time."

He doesn't say anything. But his shoulder touches mine now. Like he's inching closer without realizing it.

The room's dim—the only light coming from the hallway and the soft glow of my desk lamp. It's quiet in the kind of way I like. Not empty. Just still.

Eventually, I glance at the time. "You can crash here tonight, if you want. I mean, if you're allowed to."

His shoulders stiffen. "I told my mom we might be working late."

He doesn't say more than that. But his silence speaks volumes.

"I can take the couch," I offer. "It's lumpy, but—"

"No." He cuts me off too quickly, then winces. "I mean... I don't want you to sleep on the couch. It's your bed."

I shrug. "It's just a bed."

He doesn't look at me.

There's a long pause. Then, softly, he says, "We... We shared it last time."

I blink.

"When I came here," he continues, even quieter, "after... after that night. You said I could stay. We... both slept in your bed."

"I remember."

"I just... I was nervous then too."

My heart stutters. "Me too."

He glances at me. Wide-eyed. "Really?"

"Yeah." I smile faintly. "I mean, not in a bad way. I just didn't want to do anything wrong. Or make you uncomfortable."

"You didn't."

That single sentence holds more weight than I think he realizes.

I shift a little, lean back on my hands. "We can both sleep here. If you're okay with it. There's space. I'll stay on my side."

He nods after a beat. "Okay."

We change in the awkward way that teenagers do when they're pretending not to be aware of each other's presence. I dig out clean joggers and a t-shirt for him—he accepts them with a quiet "thanks"—and we turn away to change.

When we crawl into bed, it feels surreal. The mattress dips beneath our weight. The blanket rustles between us. I stare up at the ceiling in the dark, heart ticking louder than it should. My t-shirt is a little bigger on him. He looks prettier than usual. I want to hold him.

Beside me, Eli shifts. Then again.

I finally whisper, "You okay?"

A pause. Then:

"I'm just... not used to this."

I know what he means. Safety. Softness. The idea that someone actually wants him around.

"Me neither," I admit.

There's a breath between us. One quiet, suspended moment.

"I'm glad you came," I say. "I know it probably wasn't easy."

"It wasn't," he whispers. "But I wanted to."

Something catches in my throat. How will I stay away from him if he keeps being this adorable? Heat rises till my neck.

"Thank you," I murmur.

He doesn't respond. But he inches a little closer, just enough that I can feel the warmth of him beneath the blanket. His legs brush against mine. I move my hands closer to his. Our fingers press against each other.

That's enough.

Eventually, the tension evens. His breathing evens. I turn on his side and look at him. He is depp asleep. The night settles in around us like a blanket of its own, soft and heavy.

After a long time of admiring him in his sleep, I also start to drift, thoughts slow and quiet, the weight of the day finally wearing off.

Until—

A choked sound.

I jolt.

Next to me, Eli twitches—fingers gripping the blanket, legs pulling in on themselves. He lets out a sharp gasp, barely a whisper of sound, but enough to twist my stomach into a knot. His eyes are still closed.

He's crying.

In his sleep.

—----------------------------_—-------------------

THIRD PERSON POV:

"Please—please don't—"

Rafe sat up instantly, heart beating out like it might bursr.. It wasn't just sleep-talking. Eli was trapped somewhere, deep and dark, and he wasn't getting out of there.

He reached out, gently but firm. "Eli," he whispered. "Hey... hey, it's okay. It's me. Wake up."

But Eli only flinched, recoiling like the touch burned him. His breathing picked up—fast, panicked. There was a sharp gasp, then a sob that broke open in his throat like something tearing loose.

"Dad, I'm sorry, I didn't—please, I didn't mean—!"

Rafe's heart broke. His father. That's who he is dreaming about."No, no," Rafe said quickly, moving closer, putting a hand to Eli's shoulder and another to cup his cheeks and "Eli, wake up. You're dreaming. You're safe. It's me."

Another sob—louder this time—and Eli jerked awake with a gasp like he was drowning. His eyes flew open, wide and unfocused. Tears streaked his cheeks. He sat up so fast the blanket tangled around him and he shoved it off in a panic. He looked around like he didn't recognize the room. Like the walls were closing in.

"Eli—"

He broke down more when he saw rafe. He didn't want to show his vulnerability again to him."I'm sorry," Eli choked out. "I didn't mean to wake you—I just—I didn't know—"

He was sobbing now, his voice broken, hands shaking as he tried to wipe his face, tried to breathe, tried to piece himself back together. But there was no composure to find. No mask to pull back on.

"I didn't want to bother you," he said, voice cracking. "I didn't want to ruin anything, I just— I just—"

"You didn't ruin anything," Rafe said softly, firmly, and reached for him again—this time slower, more deliberate.

Eli was trembling so hard his whole frame seemed to shake under the weight of whatever he'd carried into that dream. He looked at Rafe like he wasn't sure he was allowed to lean into him, like even this—this moment of breaking—was a burden too great to share.

"I'm okay," Eli said, even as fresh tears spilled from his lashes. "I'm fine—I just... I just need a minute, I—"

"No," Rafe said. "You're not okay. And that's okay. You don't have to lie to me."

Eli crumpled then. Not physically—but in his eyes, his shoulders. The invisible tension snapped.

He didn't resist when Rafe reached out and gently pulled him close. 

Rafe guided Eli down slowly, carefully—like someone handling something cracked and fragile and still bleeding from its fractures. He didn't force him, just moved with quiet, patient insistence, until Eli was lying back against the pillows. Rafe stayed close, sitting on his side, one hand gently cupping the back of Eli's head, the other resting protectively over his chest, grounding him.

Eli was still crying, soft but broken sobs spilling out with no rhythm, like his lungs had forgotten how to hold breath without hurting. His fingers curled in Rafe's shirt. Whether he realized it or not, he was clinging.

"I hate this," Eli whispered, voice raw. "I hate that even when I am away from him...I swear I can feel his hands, hear his voice, like he will come bursting in the room any second..."

"He's not," Rafe murmured, heart aching at the fear in Eli's voice. "You're not there. You're here. With me. And no one is gonna hurt you when you are with me."

Eli tried to speak again, but his throat gave out. His lip trembled, and he shook his head, covering his face with one arm like he could hide from the shame.

"It's pathetic," he mumbled. "I'm pathetic. I should be used to it by now. I shouldn't—"

"Don't," Rafe cut in softly. "Don't say that."

His hand moved to gently draw Eli's arm away from his face. He looked at him—really looked—at the way his eyes were red and wet, his expression twisted with guilt he didn't deserve. And Rafe felt something deep and sharp twist in his chest. A kind of pain that wasn't physical but left him breathless anyway.

"You're not pathetic," he said firmly. "You're not weak. You're not a burden. You're just... hurting. And you don't have to do that alone."

Eli's breath hitched. His body had gone quiet, but the tears were still coming, warm and endless and slow now, like a flood that had worn itself out but didn't know how to stop.

"I don't know how to make it stop," Eli whispered. "I don't know how to make him go away. Even when he's not here, it's like he is. Like I'll never be free of it."

Rafe lay down beside him then, slowly easing down until they were level. He kept his arms around Eli, tugged him in just close enough for him to feel it—the safety of another heartbeat, another presence. And when Eli didn't pull away, he let out a quiet breath of relief.

"You don't have to make it stop all at once," Rafe said. "You just have to survive it. Night by night. Moment by moment. And I'll be here. Every time."

There was a silence then, soft and heavy and full of unsaid things. Eli's breathing was ragged but slowing. His fingers still gripped Rafe's shirt like a lifeline.

"You're too good to me," Eli whispered. "You always are."

"Hiw can I be not good to you, hm? You make me feel so different." Rafe said.

Eli didn't answer, but something in him eased just a little and his heart felt lighter yet panicked. Just enough to trust the warmth in Rafe's hold, to trust that he didn't have to keep apologizing for being shattered.

They lay like that for a long time. Rafe stayed awake, watching Eli as his tears slowly began to dry. He stroked his hair, his back, whispering quiet things that didn't need meaning—just the sound, the presence, the reminder that he wasn't alone in the dark.

And finally, slowly, Eli's breathing evened out. His fingers loosened. The tears stopped.

Sleep took him again—not the haunted, gasping kind that had broken him earlier, but something softer. Lighter. Like maybe, just for tonight, he was safe enough to rest.

Rafe stayed awake a while longer, watching the steady rise and fall of Eli's chest.

His own eyes burned.

Not from sleep.

From helplessness. From the unbearable ache of watching someone you care about carry a weight you can't take from them. Of knowing you'd trade anything to make it stop, but the only thing you can offer is your presence.

So he gave it.

Every breath. Every beat of his heart.

He will give it all.

For Eli.

The minutes stretched on. The clock on Rafe's wall ticked with a sound far too loud in the hush of the room, but Eli didn't stir. His breathing had evened out, soft and shallow, lashes trembling faintly against flushed, tear-streaked cheeks. He looked impossibly young like this. Younger than seventeen. Smaller. Fragile in a way that made Rafe's throat tighten with something that felt too big to name.

Rafe didn't move. He couldn't. His hand still rested lightly on Eli's back, fingers splayed like he could keep him together through touch alone. His other hand had drifted to Eli's hair, slowly stroking through the strands—soothing them both.

God, he'd never hated anyone like he hated Eli's father.

And he'd never wanted to protect someone like this. Not until Eli. Not until those sharp, quiet eyes and the way he held himself like he expected to be hit for breathing wrong. Not until that first night when Eli had stood in Rafe's doorway, bruised and bleeding and still trying to act like he wasn't afraid. Not until now—curled in Rafe's bed, trembling in sleep from ghosts that should never have touched him in the first place.

Rafe shifted just slightly, propping himself up on one elbow. He looked down at Eli in the soft light from the bedside lamp—the remnants of a nightmare still clinging to the curve of his brows, the shine left by dried tears.

His eyes. They were still a little swollen. Red around the edges. Like every inch of Eli's body carried the weight of the pain he never let out in daylight.

Rafe hesitated.

His hand hovered.

They'd barely even held hands before—once, maybe twice, and even that had felt like something quietly monumental. But this... this felt bigger. Not even fully tender. Just real. Intimate in the way that meant I see your pain, and I am not afraid of it. You are not alone in it.

So he leaned down—soft, careful—and pressed a kiss to the corner of Eli's swollen eye.

Then on the other.

Barely a brush, so gentle it might've been imagined. A whisper of care. A promise folded into silence.

Eli stirred.

Rafe froze—but only for a breath.

Eli didn't wake. He just made a faint sound, something between a sigh and a broken murmur, and shifted slightly closer. His forehead brushed Rafe's shoulder.

And Rafe melted.

He lay back down slowly, pulling the blanket up a little higher around them both, then settled beside Eli again—close but not crowding, warm but not overwhelming. His fingers curled gently around Eli's wrist where it lay between them.

He didn't expect to sleep. Not really.

But eventually, sometime in the early hours, the tension drained from his limbs. The storm in his chest quieted. The world, for a moment, felt still.

And when sleep came, it came gently—wrapped in the weight of a shared bed, the quiet thrum of another person's breath, and the echo of a kiss laid upon broken skin.

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ACK- HOW IS IT? LET ME KNIW AND BTW ITS MY BIRTHDAY TODAY TOO😭🫶🏻 . JUST LETTING Y'ALL KNOW. BYEYE