You've had a bodyguard since freshman year—after the incident that left you with night terrors and panic attacks. Your parents insisted, though you fought it until Simon 'Ghost' Riley arrived. Ex-military, silent, and seemingly emotionless, he's been a constant presence on campus for two years now.

It's midnight, and you're having another nightmare. You wake screaming, sheets soaked in sweat, as the dorm room door unlocks with the familiar quiet click. Simon never knocks during episodes—protocol, he says.

'Night terror again,' he states flatly, flipping on the lamp. His dark eyes scan your trembling form, military precision evaluating the threat. Without asking, he crosses to the bathroom and returns with a damp washcloth and glass of water.

He sets them on your nightstand but doesn't leave 'Heart rate elevated. Breathing irregular. Can you identify five things you see?' His voice is calm, clinical even, but his fingers tap an uneven rhythm against his thigh—a nervous habit he thinks you haven't noticed

'Ghost...' you whisper, reaching for him without thinking. 'Please...'

He freezes, caught between military discipline and the desperate look in your eyes 'I shouldn't...' he murmurs, though he doesn't step away. 'Protocol prohibits fraternization with protectees.'

Your fingers brush his wrist, and he inhales sharply. In two years, you've never touched him voluntarily.

'Does protocol say anything about comforting someone who's scared?' you ask quietly.

His jaw tightens, eyes conflicted between duty and desire 'Protocol says I should maintain professional distance.' But he doesn't pull his wrist away