"Ethan… Ethan, wake up!" Lena's voice trembled as she gently shook him.
He was drenched in sweat, breathing hard, his head resting heavily on her arm. His body tensed, caught in the throes of a nightmare.
"Ethan!" she said more firmly this time.
He jolted upright with a sharp gasp, eyes wide in panic. For a moment, he didn't seem to recognize her.
"I'm okay," he muttered after a beat, brushing off the sweat from his brow. "Just a nightmare."
He climbed out of bed without another word and disappeared out the door.
Lena sat up, heart racing. It wasn't just a nightmare—she had seen this kind of trauma before. Audrey used to have episodes like that, back when their parents' death
Something had triggered Ethan tonight.
She found him moments later, alone in his home office, hunched over, face buried in his hands. When he lifted his head and saw her enter, his expression shifted.
"Did you need anything?" she asked softly.
He straightened, jaw tense. "Don't do that."
"Do what?"
"That," he said, gesturing vaguely. "Looking at me like I'm broken."
"I wasn't," she said evenly. "Just checking on you."
He was surprised. No pushback, no interrogation. She wasn't her usual curious self—and that somehow unnerved him more.
He muttered something about coffee and wandered off to make himself a cup, too afraid to fall asleep again. This wasn't the first time. The nightmares were becoming more frequent.
Lena texted Christian just before sunrise:
"He might need you. Today. Early."
Christian got the message loud and clear. It wasn't from Ethan—that was enough to get him moving fast.
By the time Ethan was ready to leave for work, Christian was already at his door.
"Christian?" Ethan blinked, surprised. "Thought I'd see you at the office."
"I figured we'd ride together," Christian said casually, but his eyes were scanning Ethan's tired face. "Did you get any sleep at all? Your eyes look like they fought a war."
Ethan smirked weakly. "I did. Kind of."
"Lena?" Christian guessed. "You two fought?"
Ethan chuckled. "Fought? She doesn't have it in her."
Christian tilted his head. "So…?"
"The dream again," Ethan said, and something in his tone dropped.
Christian grew still. "What dream?"
Ethan sighed. "The one about my mom. But… different this time. More vivid. More real. I woke up in a panic—I think I scared Lena."
Christian's expression softened. "Man… that's not just a dream. That's trauma, E."
Behind the corner, Lena stood quietly, listening, heart tightening at every word.
"She handled it well," Ethan said. "Didn't push. Maybe she'll let it slide."
"She won't," Christian said flatly. "You know her."
"Worst case, I become her case study," Ethan muttered.
Christian raised an eyebrow. "Come on, don't do that. She cares, that's not analysis."
They moved toward the front entrance just as Lena stepped out, pretending not to have overheard anything.
"Hey," she said with a soft smile. "Clara says breakfast's ready."
"I'm skipping," Ethan replied immediately, brushing past.
"Okay… I'll let her know," she murmured as she walked off.
She watched them leave, stealing one last glance at Ethan.
Clara appeared beside her, soft as a whisper. "How's it going?"
Lena turned to her. "How troubled is Ethan?"
Clara looked hesitant. "I don't know everything. But… they say he changed after his mom died. He used to be different when he was younger—more open, I think. Since then? He just got colder. A trail of exes. The walls went up."
Lena nodded slowly. "He seems okay now. But something's off."
"Did something happen?"
"No," Lena replied too quickly. Then added, "He's guarding something. Not just with his mind. With his heart."
Clara frowned in confusion, but said nothing.
If there was a mystery behind his mother's death, then that must have been what got to him, Lena thought, her arms folded tightly across her chest.
She shouldn't care. She knew that. But somehow, her care for Ethan had crossed that line—from simple concern into something heavier… deeper.
What she saw in him wasn't just an overreaction. It was bottled-up trauma. Dangerous. Brewing just beneath the surface.
"Just tell her it was nothing," Ethan muttered as he picked up his jacket. "A scare. I don't want to dwell on it."
Christian hesitated but nodded. "I'll handle it."
He found Lena in the hallway, still unsettled.
"Ethan's fine," he said, gently. "Don't worry so much about it."
Lena arched a brow. "Is he?"
There was a silence.
"I don't want to wake up strangled if it gets really serious," she added dryly, trying to make light of it, but her voice cracked.
Christian softened. "No, no—he's not violent. Never been. But… yes, it does happen. More than he admits."
Lena's breath hitched. She wasn't imagining it. "So it's not just once in a blue moon?"
Christian sighed, torn.
"Look, I promised him I'd tell you it was fine. But you obviously care—and you're not going to let this go."
He leaned against the doorframe, eyes clouded with old memories.
"Ethan is dear to me," he said. "Back in school, I was the only Asian kid in a mostly white school. I got bullied. Ignored. Ethan… he was the only one who treated me like I mattered. I owe him more than I can say."
He looked at Lena, seriously now.
"And that's why I know when it's too much for him."
Lena listened, unmoving, heart pounding.
"Since you came into his life," Christian continued, "he's been lighter. Like he can breathe. Maybe you're the help he won't ask for."
"He has those dreams often?" she asked softly.
"He used to. After a while, it stopped—or at least, he learned how to bury it. But they always hit him hard. When it happens, he can't sleep. Gets anxious. So he fills up his time—parties, events, distractions. Anything to avoid the night."
Lena swallowed. "And how did you manage it before?"
"I persuaded him to try therapy once," Christian said. "He went. But the therapist pushed too hard, and Ethan shut down. Said he'd deal with it his own way. To his credit, it did work for a while."
Lena nodded. "That's trauma. Audrey went through that too. Just when we thought it was gone… it came back worse."
Christian studied her. "You really care."
"I don't know what this is," she admitted. "But it's not just sympathy anymore."
Christian gave a quiet smile. "He hasn't had an episode like that in a long time. He got better after seeing a kids' trauma therapist once—he never said much about it, but I think that helped."
He looked toward the door.
"We'll have to encourage him to try again," he said, walking away. "Maybe this time… it won't be just therapy. Maybe you can be part of his healing."
Lena stood there, rooted, her chest tight.
A part of Christian hoped she'd be the one to stay. She wasn't like the others. She wasn't backing down.