𝐁𝐨𝐲𝐬 𝐎𝐟 𝐓𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧

Nightmares And Phone Calls

the one where Orla calls Johnny after having a nightmare

The faint glow of the digital clock on her bedside table read 2:43 AM. Orla Kennedy sat up in her bed, her heart racing as remnants of the nightmare clung to her mind like cobwebs. The car's screeching tires, the shattering glass, her mother's scream—she pressed the heel of her hand against her chest, willing her breathing to slow down.

It wasn't working.

She stared at her phone, her thumb hesitating over the contact labeled "Johnny." The thought of waking him filled her with guilt, but she needed to hear his voice—needed the reassurance that she was here, now, and safe.

Before she could talk herself out of it, she pressed the call button.

The line buzzed twice before a low, groggy voice answered, "Did I wake you?" she whispered, guilt lacing her words.

A soft rustling sound came through the line, like sheets shifting. "No, baby," Johnny murmured, his voice warm despite the hour. "What's wrong?"

Her throat tightened. She glanced at the darkened room around her and swallowed hard. "I had another nightmare," she admitted.

There was a pause. She could picture Johnny running a hand through his messy hair, his expression softening like it always did when he was worried about her. "Bad one?"

She nodded before realizing he couldn't see her. "Yeah."

"Want to talk about it?"

She shook her head, a small laugh escaping despite herself. "Not really."

"Okay."

The simplicity of his response made her chest ache. He never pushed, never pried. He was just there, a steady presence when the world around her felt like it was falling apart.

"I don't want to keep you up," she said, though her fingers clutched the phone tightly.

Johnny's voice turned firm, though still laced with affection. "If I fall asleep, don't hang up."

She smiled faintly. "Johnny..."

"I mean it, Orla."

She lay back against her pillows, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly at his words. For a while, there was only the sound of their breathing, the steady rhythm soothing her frayed nerves.

"What time is it?" Johnny asked eventually, his voice breaking the comfortable silence.

"Nearly three," she replied, glancing at the clock again.

"Bloody hell, you should be asleep."

"You're one to talk."

He chuckled softly, the sound like a warm blanket wrapping around her. "Touché."

Her fingers traced the edge of the blanket absently. "You're good at this, you know."

"At what?"

"Making me feel better."

There was a pause before he replied, his voice quieter now, like he was treading carefully. "I'll always try, Orla. You know that, right?"

Her chest tightened again, but this time for a different reason. "I know," she whispered. "I just... I hate this. I hate feeling like I'm dragging you into my mess."

"Hey," Johnny said sharply, and she could almost see the way his brows would furrow in that endearing way of his. "You're not a mess. And even if you were, I'd still be here. We're in this together."

Her eyes burned, and she blinked back tears. "Why are you so good to me?"

He laughed softly. "Why wouldn't I be?"

She didn't have an answer to that, so she settled for a quiet "Thank you."

"Anytime, love."

Her breathing slowed, the exhaustion from the nightmare and the late hour catching up to her. Johnny must have noticed because he spoke again, his voice gentle. "Close your eyes, Orla. I'm not going anywhere."

She obeyed, the sound of his voice anchoring her as sleep began to pull her under.

"Goodnight, Johnny," she murmured, barely awake.

"Goodnight, baby," he replied. "I'll see you in the morning."

COMMENT TO KEEP ME MOTIVATED!!