Capture

No More Games

The dream started sweet.

"Emma?" Harry's voice melted through the haze. His dimpled smile, that minty breath, the warmth of his body — it all felt like safety. I leaned into him, lips meeting his in a kiss that was soft and slow. His arms wrapped around me and I sighed into it, wanting more. Craving more.

Then it shifted.

The air thickened. His hand fisted my hair — too tight. My back hit the wall hard, and I blinked up, startled. The eyes weren't green anymore. Liam stared down at me, all fire and need, his mouth claiming mine like a dare. I gasped, pushing him away.

"Liam?" I breathed, but it came out unsure.

His hand clamped over my mouth as he kissed down my neck, all bite and bruising. I tried to resist, but he pinned my wrists above me like shackles.

"Let me love you, baby," he whispered — but it wasn't Liam's voice now.

It was Ian.

My blood ran cold.

"Ian!" I cried, thrashing against him, panic clawing its way up my throat. "Please — get off!"

He didn't. His voice whined, his body pressed too close, his tongue —

I gagged.

He reached up, brushed hair from my face like he loved me. That moment of softness was all I needed. My fist connected with his skull. He stumbled, groaning.

I shot up in bed, heart thundering, drenched in sweat. The room was dark and quiet , and then "Emma!" a voice yelled.

I screamed, wild and disoriented, fists flying again. Strong arms caught me from behind.

"It's me! It's just me — Emma, I've got you, love. You're okay. It was just a dream." Harry soothed as his breath was sharp and uneven against my ear. I collapsed into him, shaking. He held me tightly, unbothered by the sweat or the tears or the wildness of my limbs. Just held me, solid and still. "You're okay," he repeated, his voice calm. "It's over."

I pulled back slightly, gasping for breath. My bedroom was dark, the streetlight outside casting a soft glow through the curtains. "Harry?" I blinked at him. "Why are you in my room?"

"I was on the couch. You started screaming." He gestured toward the door. "Came in to check on you."

"...Why were you on the couch in the first place?"

"You don't remember?" He smiled softly. "You called me. Last night. After the pub. You were hammered. I walked you home."

I blinked. "I don't remember."

"Clearly." He chuckled. "You asked me to stay." he whispered quietly, almost reluctant to admit it, like it was a small but important truth he wasn't used to saying out loud. The room was still dark, so I couldn't see his face clearly, but the softness in his voice and the way he was close enough to hold me told me everything I needed to know. He stayed because I needed him to—because I asked. And somehow, that made me feel less alone, even in the quiet shadowed stillness of the night.

"I had a nightmare," I whispered. "I'm sorry."

Harry didn't speak, he just sat on the bed beside me and pulled my legs over his lap, his arm wrapped around my waist. "I get nightmares too." he said quietly reassuring me. We sat like that, just breathing together in the dark. It felt strangely... intimate and yet entirely innocent too. He wasn't trying to make a move, he was just there to help me calm down after a bad dream. I closed my eyes and rested my head on his shoulder.