Cant u hear me?

The night was quiet, save for the occasional hum of passing cars outside the apartment window. The city never truly slept, but in this moment, within the dimly lit walls of Nat's bedroom, everything felt still. Peaceful, almost.

Billie sat on the edge of Nat's bed, watching as her chest rose and fell in steady rhythm. She had finally fallen asleep after the chaos of the day, exhaustion pulling her under the moment her head hit the pillow. Billie had stayed, unwilling to leave her alone after everything.

Her fingers absentmindedly traced over the blanket covering Nat, careful not to wake her. She still couldn't shake the image of her earlier—eyes wide with terror, gasping for breath, completely unraveling in the middle of the street. It had been one of the worst things Billie had ever seen, and it made her stomach twist with anger.

She wished she could take all of Nat's pain and fear and make it disappear. But life didn't work like that. All she could do was be here, beside her, for as long as Nat let her.

Her gaze softened as she looked at her. Even in sleep, there was tension in her brow, like she was still fighting something even in her dreams. Billie's fingers twitched with the urge to smooth the worry away.

She let out a slow breath.

This girl—this girl who had fought so hard to survive, who had carried more weight than anyone ever should, who had given so much of herself to others—had taken up residence in Billie's heart in a way she hadn't expected.

No, that wasn't right. It wasn't unexpected. It had been happening for a while now.

Billie just hadn't let herself say it out loud.

She swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. "Nat," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

Nat didn't stir. Her breathing remained slow and even.

Billie let out a small, almost bitter laugh. Maybe it was better this way—saying it when Nat couldn't hear her.

When she didn't have to risk losing her.

"I don't know when it happened," Billie admitted quietly, her fingers tracing invisible patterns against the blanket. "Maybe it was the first time you made me laugh. Or when I saw you taking care of everyone at the café, giving everything you had to people who didn't always deserve it."

She exhaled.

"Or maybe it was when I saw you break."

Her voice wavered, just a little.

"I think that's when I knew for sure," she whispered. "Because all I wanted was to put you back together."

She reached out hesitantly, brushing a stray strand of hair from Nat's face. She looked so fragile like this. So human.

"I care about you, Nat. More than I probably should." Billie's lips twisted into a sad smile. "More than you'd ever believe."

She sighed, shaking her head. "And you have no idea, do you?"

Nothing. No movement. No reaction.

Just the soft sound of breathing in the stillness of the room.

Billie let out a small laugh, more to herself than anything. "Of course you don't. You're asleep."

Her fingers lingered near Nat's cheek for a moment before she pulled back, letting her hand drop to her lap.

Maybe this was enough—for now.

To say it out loud. Even if Nat never heard it.

Even if she never felt the same.

She leaned forward, pressing the lightest of kisses to Nat's forehead, lingering just a second longer than she should have.

"Sweet dreams, Nat," she whispered.

Then she sat back, leaning against the headboard, content to watch over her for the rest of the night.