— Varek's POV —
I was just downstairs.
Like I always am.
Waiting in the shadows he keeps trying to ignore — guarding him from threats he doesn't even believe in. Watching every flicker of light from his apartment window like it was some kind of lifeline.
But tonight…
The light was off.
Pitch black.
My body went cold the second I looked up.
Because Nolan never leaves his apartment dark. He keeps a lamp on by the couch, a hallway bulb lit, even while sleeping. Not for ambiance. Not for comfort.
Because he's afraid.
Of the dark. Of silence. Of what's waiting for him when the lights go out.
I knew something was wrong.
Then my phone buzzed.
Just once.
His name.
A single ring before the call ended.
And I didn't hesitate.
If he called me — me — it meant something was terribly, desperately wrong. Because Nolan Vale would rather bleed out alone than ask me for help.
That pride of his… it's a fortress.
But tonight, it cracked.
I sprinted up the stairs two at a time. Every second clawed at my chest like a countdown. The moment I reached his door, I didn't bother knocking. I kicked it open — wood splintering beneath my boot.
And there he was.
Struggling in the dark.
His figure barely visible in the twisted shadows of the room — chest heaving, limbs scrambling. A masked intruder crouched over him, knife glinting as it slashed forward.
My Nolan.
Cornered.
Defenseless.
Mine.
Something inside me snapped.
I don't even remember crossing the room.
I just remember grabbing the man by the back of his collar and throwing him across the floor. He hit the wall with a sickening thud, rolled, tried to get up — but I was already on him. Fist to jaw. Knee to ribs. My knuckles split, but I didn't stop. Not until he stopped fighting.
But then —
I heard him.
"Ngh—Varek…"
His voice.
I turned.
Nolan was pressed against the floor, panting, eyes huge, glassy with panic. His phone was shattered nearby, his shirt sleeve sliced — blood blooming through the fabric in a slow stain.
Everything else blurred.
The attacker used that second — stumbled toward the door and vanished into the hallway like smoke.
I surged up, about to follow — about to make him regret every breath he'd taken near Nolan — when I felt it.
A hand.
His hand.
Gripping my arm with more desperation than strength.
"Don't," he whispered.
That one word stopped everything.
I turned, stunned.
He was trembling. Shoulders shaking, breath shallow, eyes still frozen in that space between terror and disbelief. My chest ached so violently I thought it might crack open.
I've dreamed of holding him a thousand times. I've imagined it, fantasized about it in every way obsession allows. Of him needing me.
But not like this.
Not because he was terrified and broken.
Not because someone else put that fear in him.
I dropped beside him, pulling him into my arms before I could think twice.
He collapsed against me without resistance — his forehead burying into my shoulder, his hands cold against my chest.
I should've felt victorious.
But I didn't.
All I felt was rage.
Not at him.
At the world that keeps trying to rip him away from me.
He was breathing too fast. Lost. Fragile. And I knew — if I let go now, he'd shatter.
So I didn't.
"I told you," I whispered, pressing my lips to his temple, "they're not just nightmares."
He didn't reply.
"I'm not going to leave you here," I murmured. "Not tonight. Not ever again."
Still nothing.
I pulled back slightly, just enough to meet his eyes — and what I saw broke me.
Not hatred.
Not fear of me.
Just confusion. Shock. Exhaustion.
I cupped the side of his face, thumb brushing under his eye. "You're coming with me now. No more arguments."
He was quiet. But he didn't move away.
"If you say no…" I said softly, "…I'll carry you. That's not a threat. It's a promise."
I glanced down and saw his cracked phone beside us. Picked it up. My name was still in the recent call list.
Proof he reached for me — even if he'd deny it tomorrow.
And then I looked back at him — still trembling in my arms.
"Your life is more important than your stubbornness," I added. My voice cracked a little.
I stood, still holding his hand.
He didn't fight me.
I took him out of the apartment, every step measured. Every hallway we passed through felt quieter than usual. Or maybe it was just me, hyperaware of every shadow now.
Of every threat.
Because tonight made one thing very, very clear:
They're getting bold.
And the moment Nolan started chasing the truth, he became a target.
But he's mine.
And I'd burn this world to ash before I let anyone take him again.