INT. ERION'S PAD – NIGHT
"I'll start," she said softly. "Try to focus on your breathing."
Erion didn't reply.
The air felt heavy, almost still — the only sounds were the faint hiss of the humidifier and the slow rhythm of rain tapping against the window. The scent of lavender drifted through the air, but somehow, it didn't calm her.
Evah drew in a quiet breath, rubbed her palms together to warm the oil, and let the scent bloom between her fingers. Her heart was beating far too fast for her liking.
Like a new employee on her first day, some instinct warned her — he's still your boss, don't mess this up.
She hesitated, then pressed her hands gently against his back.
Warmth.
Firm muscle beneath her palms, the faint rise and fall of his breathing. His skin wasn't cold, but her fingers still trembled slightly from the rush of contact.
For a moment, she couldn't breathe.
She tried to recall the technique she had practiced over and over again, all those test runs that felt so much easier than this moment.
Her touch moved carefully along his shoulders, tracing the faded scars and healed cuts. She could feel the uneven texture — reminders of every battle, every wound he carried alone. It wasn't pity that made her chest ache. It was something heavier, pounding in her ears. Something she was fighting. Something that tightened her throat whenever she remembered how easily he smiled through pain.
Erion stayed silent, his face turned slightly to the side, eyes half-lidded. His breathing deepened — not from comfort, but as if he were forcing himself to stay still.
"You're doing fine," she whispered, voice steadier now as she worked.
"Are you sure you know what you're doing, Bunny? I'm kind of scared for my life now."
She caught the faint smirk on his lips — the teasing tone she always hated, yet somehow it eased her tension a little.
"Just… let your body rest a little. I know what I'm doing," she said, puffing her cheeks.
"Can you press the red button under the side table? Inside the drawer." His voice came out almost sleepy.
Evah reached for it and did as he said. Erion had always mentioned it was for emergencies. What it actually did — she still didn't know.
"Okay, put this on," she said, remembering the eye mask she'd prepared on the same table.
Erion complied without question. He didn't speak, but his shoulders softened — barely. A small surrender she noticed. His muscles felt less like stone, more human.
Her movements slowed, tracing small circles across his scars with her thumbs. The lavender scent thickened in the air — soft, medicinal, soothing.
The storm outside cracked faintly, thunder rolling in the distance. Candlelight swayed with the wind, shadows dancing across his back.
The slow instrumental hum playing in the background seemed to follow their breaths, their heartbeats, until even her own fingers stopped shaking.
She wasn't just helping him sleep.
Erion's voice came low, blending into the sound of rain.
"Goodnight, Bunny."
A faint hum left him — not quite a laugh, but something close.
For that small second, it felt like the storm eased a little.
When she finally pulled her hands away, the candles had burned lower, their flames dimming into soft flickers.
Erion hadn't moved. His eyes were closed now, breath deep and even.
Evah sat quietly beside him, watching. The tension in his face — the same one that never left even in sleep — seemed to loosen just a little.
Outside, the storm softened to drizzle.
The scent of lavender lingered between them — calm, warm, and distant.
Like the peace she wished he could feel.
"Good night, Erion," she whispered.