She was quiet for a long moment.
“What if I don’t know what I want to give?” she finally asked softly.
“Then give nothing,” he said. “Only rest. I ask nothing else.”
Another silence, longer this time. He watched her wrestle with herself, watched the exhaustion war against the fear and the practicality she prized so highly struggle to find an argument against simple shared warmth.
“Fine.” The word came out rough, almost angry. “Fine. But only because that chair really will break if you try to sleep in it, and I don’t have the supplies to fix another piece of equipment.”
He didn’t smile, although he wanted to. “Understood.”
“And you keep your hands—claws—whatever—to yourself.”
“I will hold you. As before. Nothing more.”
“I mean it, Adjar. No…”
She trailed off, apparently unable to articulate what she was forbidding. He tilted his head, genuinely curious.
“No what?”
“Just—no.” She stood abruptly, moving towards the bunk with jerky, agitated steps. “Come on. Before I change my mind.”
He rose carefully, mindful of his wings and the low ceiling, and followed her to the narrow bed. She was already climbing in, pressing herself against the wall to make room, her back to the space he would occupy.
The position was already familiar. He lowered himself onto the bunk, feeling the frame creak beneath his weight, and carefully arranged his wings so they wouldn’t crowd her. His body curled naturally around hers, his larger frame enveloping her smaller one and his tail settling over her ankles.
She was tense. Every muscle in her body seemed to be wound tight, and he could feel the rapid flutter of her heartbeat even through the layers of fabric covering her.
“Breathe,” he murmured against her hair. “I will not harm you.”
“I know.” The words were barely a whisper. “That’s not… I know.”
He wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her back against his chest, and felt her breath catch. For a moment she was rigid in his arms, but then, slowly, degree by degree, the tension began to drain from her body.
Satisfaction filled him, warm and fierce and utterly unexpected in its intensity. She was in his arms. She was allowing herself to rest and to trust him with her safety. After everything she had told him about walls and solitude and the fear of needing… She was here with him.
“Sleep,” he said softly. “I will keep watch.”
A small sound somewhere between a laugh and a sigh escaped her. “You said that before. What exactly are you watching for?”
“Everything.” He tightened his arm slightly, feeling the soft curve of her waist beneath his palm. “Nothing will harm you while I hold you. This I vow.”
She was quiet for a moment. “That’s a big promise to make,” she said quietly.
“It is truth.”
Another silence. Her breathing was slowing, her body relaxing incrementally against his. He could feel the moment she began to slip towards sleep in the softening of her muscles and the way her weight settled more fully against him.
“Adjar?”
“Yes?”
“Why do you care? About keeping me safe.” Her voice was thick with approaching sleep. “You don’t even know me.”
I know enough.
But the words that came out were different—pulled from somewhere deep, somewhere he hadn’t known existed until this moment.