The silence that followed Elena's sobs was filled with a strange calm. For the first time in hours, Sam felt the tension in his chest loosen ever so slightly. Elena's head rested quietly against his shoulder, the remnants of her tears dampening the fabric of his shirt. He didn't move, didn't speak—just let her breathe, let her settle, let her rest.
When her body finally stilled and her breath grew deeper, Sam gently placed his hands on her shoulders. He gave her a soft, steady look.
"You should go and get some sleep," he said, his voice low but firm.
Elena nodded slowly, wiping at her eyes with the sleeve of her sweater. "Yeah… I should," she agreed, her voice husky from crying. "And you should too, Sam. You need proper rest."
Sam offered a tired smile. "I will."
Elena stood up with a small sigh and turned toward the door. She moved slowly, like every step still carried weight from the trauma of the day. Just as she reached the exit, she paused. Her fingers hovered over the doorknob, but she didn't turn it. Instead, she turned back around, eyes searching Sam's with an emotion he couldn't quite name.
She looked vulnerable. Exposed. And braver than anyone he knew.
"I…" she began, hesitating for a moment to collect herself. "The lock on my door—it was broken during the incident. The police installed a temporary one, but... I'm still scared. I know it's silly, but..."
"It's not silly," Sam said quickly.
Elena took a breath. "Would it be okay if I… stayed here tonight? I can sleep on the floor. I'll bring the futon—you don't have to worry about anything."
Sam stood up immediately. "Elena, I get it. I really do. If it makes you feel safer, then of course. But listen—if anyone's sleeping on the floor, it's going to be me."
Elena frowned. "No, Sam. That's not fair. You're already doing so much."
"No 'but' or 'if', Elena," Sam said gently but with finality. "I'll sleep on the floor. You'll sleep on the bed. That's it. I don't want to hear any arguments."
She opened her mouth to protest, but his gaze was unrelenting. And something in his voice—maybe the quiet concern, maybe the stubborn kindness—broke her resistance.
She sighed and gave in. "Fine. But only because you look like you'll actually get angry otherwise."
"I would," he said with a small grin.
She smiled faintly, her eyes soft despite the exhaustion.
A few minutes later, Elena returned with the futon, and Sam helped her lay it out on the floor near the bed. She changed into her nightdress—a soft, loose piece of clothing that seemed to comfort her more than anything else—and Sam also slipped into his usual sleepwear: a T-shirt and cotton shorts. They avoided eye contact during the brief transition, both slightly flushed, but comfortable in the unspoken trust between them.
When the lights were dimmed and both were tucked in—one on the bed, one on the futon—they exchanged a quiet "goodnight."
But sleep didn't come easily.
Sam stared at the ceiling, his thoughts spinning in dark, restless circles.
Tonight had been one of the longest nights of his life. First, discovering that his girlfriend and his best friend were betraying him behind his back. Then, that strange encounter with Elena—the look of fear in her eyes, the bruises on her wrists, the terrifying presence of her stalker. And the fight… God, he barely held his own. They were only saved because of sheer luck—first when that neighbor intervened, and then when the police arrived.
He clenched his jaw. He felt useless. Weak. How was he supposed to protect Elena when he couldn't even protect himself?
A soft voice pulled him from his spiral.
"Sam… are you awake?"
He blinked, turning his head toward the bed. "Yeah. I'm awake."
"I can't sleep," she admitted.
He exhaled. "Me neither."
There was a pause, heavy with unsaid thoughts.
"A lot happened today," he murmured.
"Yes," she whispered back. "A lot."
Sam rolled onto his side, looking up at her silhouette in the dim moonlight filtering through the window. "Don't worry, Elena. Everything's going to be okay. You're not alone."
She was quiet for a moment, and then—softly, genuinely—she said, "Thank you, Sam."
He swallowed. He didn't feel like he deserved thanks. But he had to do something. Something to pull her out of her fear, even just for a moment.
"Hey," he said. "Tomorrow's Sunday."
She perked up slightly. "Yeah?"
"Wanna go watch a movie with me?"
There was a beat of silence, then a surprised, eager reply: "Yes! I will!"
Sam chuckled. "You didn't even ask what movie or what genre."
She laughed lightly. "Everything will be good if you're with me."
Those words hit him like a soft blow to the chest. His heart thudded, and heat crept into his cheeks.
Elena must have realized what she'd said, because a second later, she stammered, "I—I mean, you're comforting. Not that I—uh—"
Sam smiled to himself. "It's okay."
He cleared his throat, still flustered. "After the movie, how about we grab dinner at that new restaurant near the station?"
"That sounds perfect," she said, her voice a little shy but happy. "A movie and dinner…"
"And in the morning," she added brightly, "I'll make your favorite breakfast. How about that?"
Sam grinned. "You're making it hard to say no. Who would turn down that offer?"
"Only a fool," she said playfully.
"Well then," he said with mock seriousness, "we better get some sleep. We've got a full day tomorrow."
"Right," Elena murmured. "Goodnight, Sam. And… thank you again."
He closed his eyes. "Goodnight, Elena."
And this time, sleep came more gently, wrapping them both in a soft, warm silence—like a fragile peace settling after a storm.
[To be continued...]
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