Chapter 7

The nightmare was worse than usual. It wasn't just fragments this time; it was a full, suffocating reel. The dusty carpet smell, the crushing weight, the paralyzing fear—it was so vivid he woke up choking on a scream, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. The digital clock on his bedside table glowed a merciless 2:17 AM.

The silence in the dorm was absolute and heavy. Emily was asleep in the next room. He was alone. The panic attack that followed the nightmare was immediate and overwhelming. His breath came in short, ragged gasps. He felt the walls closing in. The breathing exercises were a distant, useless memory. His usual coping mechanism felt repulsive, a reminder of the very shame he was drowning in.

He was spiraling. The fragile calm from the sessions with Paul shattered completely, leaving him raw and exposed. In that moment of absolute terror and isolation, logic deserted him. There was only one anchor in the storm, one person who had made the darkness recede.

His hands trembled so violently he could barely unlock his phone. The screen's light was blinding in the dark. He navigated to his messages, to the thread with Paul. The last message was Paul's appointment confirmation. It looked so formal, so professional.

This was a line. A huge, glowing, dangerous line. If he crossed it, there was no going back. Don't do it, his rational mind screamed. It's the middle of the night. He's your professor. This is insane.

But the fear was louder. He typed with clumsy fingers, tears blurring the screen.

Professor Weston. I'm sorry to bother you. I had a bad dream. I can't breathe.

He hit send before he could change his mind.

The instant regret was a physical sickness. What have I done? He stared at the screen, horrified. He was so weak, so pathetic. Now Paul would know. He would see the full extent of Leonard's brokenness and be disgusted. He would politely refer him to the university counseling center and never speak to him again. This was it. He had ruined everything.

He threw the phone on the bed as if it had burned him, hugging his knees to his chest, rocking slightly. He was hyperventilating now, the panic feeding on his shame. He had to delete the message. Maybe it hadn't gone through. He fumbled for the phone again.

A soft chime cut through the silence. A new message. His heart stopped.

He looked at the screen.

Paul: I'm coming to get you.

Four words. Simple. Direct. No question, no hesitation, no judgment. Just action.

Leonard stared at the message, disbelief cutting through the panic. He read it again. And again. I'm coming to get you. It was the most caring, protective thing anyone had ever said to him. The dam broke. A sob, loud and ragged, tore from his throat. He cried, not from fear now, but from a overwhelming, gut-wrenching relief. He wasn't alone. Someone was coming for him.

The next twenty minutes were a blur of shaky breathing and silent tears. He pulled on a hoodie and jeans, his hands still trembling. He kept checking his phone, half-convinced he had dreamed the message. But it was still there.

A soft knock on the main dorm door. It was so quiet, it wouldn't have woken anyone else. Leonard crept out of his room, his heart pounding for a different reason now. He unlocked and opened the door.

Paul stood there, dressed in a simple t-shirt and jeans, his hair slightly messy. He looked real, solid. The hallway light behind him cast a halo around his silhouette. He wasn't wearing his professor face. He looked concerned, awake, and utterly focused on Leonard.

"Hey," Paul said, his voice a low, soothing murmur. "Let's get you out of here."

Leonard just nodded, words failing him. He stepped out into the hallway, pulling the door shut behind him. Paul didn't try to touch him, just stood close, a steady, calming presence.

"My car is downstairs," Paul said, leading the way.

They walked in silence to the parking lot. The cool night air was a shock against Leonard's feverish skin. Paul opened the passenger door of a sleek, dark car for him. Leonard slid inside, the leather seats cool. The inside of the car smelled like Paul—that same faint sandalwood scent from his office.

Paul got in the driver's side and started the car. The engine purred to life. He didn't immediately drive away. He just sat for a moment, the silence comfortable now, not oppressive.

"Where are we going?" Leonard finally asked, his voice hoarse from crying.

"Somewhere quiet," Paul said, turning his head to look at him. In the dim light of the dashboard, his eyes were soft. "Somewhere you can rest. My apartment is closer than my office. Is that okay?"

It was a question. Leonard had a choice. He could say no. This was the point of no return. Going to a professor's apartment in the middle of the night was so far beyond the boundaries of their professional relationship it was in another universe.

But the memory of the nightmare was still fresh, the terror still echoing in his bones. The thought of going back to his silent, lonely dorm room was unbearable. Paul's apartment sounded like a sanctuary.

"Yes," Leonard whispered, the word a surrender. "That's okay."

Paul nodded, a small, gentle smile touching his lips. He put the car in drive and pulled away from the curb. Leonard watched the familiar campus buildings slide by, then disappear. He was leaving his old world behind, being carried away into the unknown by the one person who made the darkness stay at bay. He leaned his head against the cool window and closed his eyes. For the first time since waking, he felt truly safe. The warning bells in his head were silent, drowned out by the hum of the engine and the profound, terrifying peace of being cared for.