@uswlker. john.
The room is dark except for the faint wash of moonlight bleeding in through the blinds. Laura doesn’t knock, she never does, not anymore. The nightmares had clawed her awake again, leaving her chest tight and her hands shaking, the echo of blood she never spilled still burning behind her eyes.
She slips in quietly, bare feet on the cold floor, until she’s at the edge of his bed. John doesn’t move. He’s a heavy sleeper, but she’s done this before, and she knows that he doesn’t question it anymore. She slides under the blanket, the heat of him already loosening something in her chest. He’s the only one who doesn’t ask what she saw. Doesn’t tell her it was just a dream. Doesn’t look at her like she’s dangerous.
It’s not long before his breathing shifts, faster, heavier. A sharp jerk in his shoulders. Even in sleep, he’s still in some war. She turns toward him, reaching out without thinking. Her palms cup his face, warm against the rough line of his jaw.
"Hey," she murmurs, not to wake him, but to anchor him. "It’s fine. You’re fine. I'm here..."
The tension in him ebbs slowly, like water receding. His eyes never open, but his breathing steadies, and her thumbs smooth over his cheekbones until he’s quiet again.
For a moment, lying there in the silence, it almost feels like home.














