Healing in His Arms
Morning sunlight streamed through the window, warming your face and pulling you from a restless sleep. For a moment, disoriented, you forgot where you were. But the soft sound of a pan clattering in the kitchen brought it all back.
You sat up slowly, the blanket Nicholas had tucked around you sliding to your lap. Your eyes flicked to the coffee table, where a glass of water and a plate of toast sat waiting. A sticky note was propped against the glass.
"Didn't want to wake you. Eat something. - N"
Your lips twitched into a small, fleeting smile. You reached for the glass of water, the cool liquid soothing your dry throat. The kindness of such a simple gesture left a lump in your throat. You weren't used to someone taking care of you—not like this.
Swinging your legs over the side of the couch, you stood and padded into the kitchen. Nicholas stood at the stove, his back to you, flipping something in a pan. He was still in his gray sweatpants and white T-shirt, his hair even messier than last night. The sight of him, so casual and calm, made you pause.
"Morning," you said softly, your voice still a little hoarse.
He turned immediately, concern flashing in his eyes before he relaxed. "Hey. How'd you sleep?"
You shrugged. "Better than I have in a while."
He gave you a small smile, one that didn't quite mask the worry still lingering in his expression. "Good. Breakfast is almost ready."
"You didn't have to do all this," you said, gesturing to the food on the stove and the plate he'd left on the table.
"Yes, I did," he said simply, turning back to the pan. "You've been through hell. The least I can do is make sure you eat."
The sincerity in his voice made your chest ache. You leaned against the counter, watching him as he moved around the kitchen.
"Thank you," you said after a moment, your voice barely above a whisper.
He paused, setting the spatula down and turning to face you fully. "You don't have to thank me. I'm just glad you came here."
You bit your lip, guilt creeping in despite his reassurances. "I didn't mean to just show up like that. I—I didn't know where else to go."
"Hey," he said gently, stepping closer. "I'm glad you came to me. You don't ever have to apologize for that. I'd rather you be here than anywhere else."
The weight of his words settled over you, bringing tears to your eyes. You blinked them back quickly, not wanting to fall apart again.
Nicholas reached out, hesitating for a moment before placing both hands on each of your shoulders. "You don't have to hold it all in, Y/N. You're safe here. You can feel whatever you need to feel."
That was all it took for the dam to break again. You covered your face with your hands, the sobs you'd been holding back pouring out. Nicholas pulled you into his arms without hesitation, holding you tightly as you cried into his chest.
"I've got you," he murmured, his voice steady and soothing. "Let it out. I'm here."
You clung to him, your fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt as if it were the only thing keeping you grounded. His arms around you felt like a shield, protecting you from everything that had hurt you.
When your sobs finally subsided, you pulled back slightly, looking up at him with red, puffy eyes. "I don't know what I'd do without you," you admitted, your voice trembling.
"You'll never have to find out," he said firmly, his brown eyes locking onto yours.
For a moment, you just stood there, staring at him, overwhelmed by the weight of his words. He meant them—you could see it in the way he looked at you, his concern and care etched into every line of his face.
"I feel like I don't even know where to start," you said quietly, your voice tinged with exhaustion.
"One step at a time," he said. "First, you're going to eat. Then we'll figure out what to do next. You're not doing this alone, okay?"
You nodded, a sense of relief washing over you. For the first time in a long time, you didn't feel so lost.
After breakfast, Nicholas insisted on helping you figure out your next steps. You sat together on the couch, your phone in hand, as he gently guided you through the process of finding a place to stay. He suggested calling a friend or family member, but when you shook your head, he didn't push.
"Okay," he said, his voice calm and reassuring. "Then you'll stay here for now. We'll figure out the rest later."
"Nicholas, I can't just—"
"Yes, you can," he interrupted, his tone leaving no room for argument. "I've got plenty of space, and I don't want you worrying about anything else right now."
You stared at him, your throat tightening. "Why are you being so kind to me?"
His expression softened, and he reached out to take your hand in his. "Because you deserve it. And because I care about you."
The warmth of his hand in yours sent a wave of comfort through you. For the first time in what felt like forever, you felt like you weren't fighting this battle alone.
Over the next few days, Nicholas proved time and time again just how much he cared. He was patient when you struggled to open up, never pushing you to talk about more than you were ready to share. He distracted you with movies and card games, his easy laughter a welcome contrast to the tension you'd grown used to.
One evening, as the two of you sat on the couch watching a movie, you turned to him, your heart pounding in your chest.
"I don't think I've ever felt this safe before," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.
Nicholas looked at you, his brown eyes warm and steady. "You deserve to feel safe. Every single day."
You bit your lip, tears welling up in your eyes. "Thank you, Nicholas. For everything."
He reached out, brushing a stray tear from your cheek. "You don't have to thank me. I'm just glad you're here."
He pulled you in his arms, your head rested on his chest as he played with your hair. Your eyes focused back to the movie but Nicholas eyes never left the sight of you. He's grateful you're safe in his arms.
