The nightmares began in whispers.
At first, Elena only noticed the way Adrian's sleep grew restless, how his body twitched, his breath ragged, his hand clutched the sheets as if they were something else. She would move beside him, reach for his arm, hug him, and he'd calm at her touch, this breathing returning to steady rhythms.
But soon the whispers become a storm.
One night, Elena woke up by his sudden movement. She find him sitting upright on the edge of the bed, his shirt clinging with sweat, his eyes wide and unfocused. His chest gasping for air like he had run miles, and his hands trembled as he pressed them against his face.
"Adrian?" she whispered, her voice trembling.
He didn't answer at first as thought he was still trying to ground himself. Then, hoarsely said, "Go back to sleep, Elena. I'm fine."
But she knows he wasn't.
During the days, he tried to hid it. He smiled at her, he made coffee for himself and a chocolate hot drink for her, teased her about the paint smudges on her face. But beneath it all was a tension that never loosened, a storm hiding behind his eyes.
Elena noticed the way he lingered at windows, scanning the horizon as if waiting for something. The way he jumped at sudden noises, the clatter of a dropped plate, the slam of a car door. The way his hands trembled sometimes when he thought she wasn't looking.
She wanted to reach for him, to demand that he let her in. But every time she tried, he would brush her off with a quiet, "I'm okay. Really."
One evening, she found him on the balcony, staring out at the sea. The sun had just set, leaving the sky smeared with indigo and crimson. Adrian stood stiffly, his jaw clenched, his fingers gripping the railing hard enough to whiten his knuckles.
"What are you thinking about?" she asked softly, stepping beside him.
He didn't look at her. "Things I can't put into words."
"Try me," she urged.
His eyes flicked to hers then, raw and possessed. "If I do... you'll never see me the same."
Her heart ache. She touched his arm. "Adrian, nothing could change the way I see you."
But he shook his head, pulling away. "You say that now. But you don't know what it's like to carry this. To see it every time I close my eyes."
The silence that followed was heavier than any fight. Elena turned away, swallowing her tears. She wanted to scream that she didn't care about the scars, the shadows, the darkness, she wanted him. But he was already slipping.
That night, his nightmare woke her up before dawn. He thrashed beside her, muttering words she couldn't understand, his fists clenched as if fighting an invisible enemy.
"Adrian!" she cried, grabbing his shoulders, slightly shaking him before hugging him tightly. "Wake up! It's me!"
He suddenly sat upright, his eyes flew open wildly, and for that terrifying moment she didn't recognize him. His gaze darted around the room, his chest rising up and down, before it finally settled on her. Recognition flickered and shame followed.
"Elena..." He whispered, his voice breaking. He pulled her away and saw her tears staining her cheeks. He buried his face in his hands with shame. "I can't-"
Her heart shattered. She wrapped her arms around him once again, pressing her cheek to his shoulder as she continues to cry. "You don't have to go through this alone," she murmured. "Please... Just please... Let me in."
But all he said was, "I don't want to hurt you."
Scythe lean back to see him. Deeply staring back at his eyes with sadness and love. "But you already did by keeping your pain all by yourself."
Days bled into nights, the pattern repeating: moments of weakness becomes a routine, followed by the creeping weight of silence, the sudden storms of terror that stole his sleep.
Elena found herself painting more than ever. Canvases filled with fragments of him. The curve of his jaw, the shadow in his eyes, the weight he was silently carrying as a soldier. She painted because words weren't enough, because her love for him needed to go somewhere.
But even as she poured herself into color and line, she couldn't shake the fear. Was her love strong enough to reach him? Or would her past swallow him whole?
One evening, she decided she couldn't keep silent any longer.
They were sitting on the floor of her apartment, dinner plates scattered around them. Adrian had barely eaten, his gaze fixed on the flicker of the candle they'd lit.
"Adrian," she said quietly.
He hummed, distracted.
"You can't keep doing this. Pretending you're fine when you're not. It's killing you, and it's hurting me."
His jaw tightened. "And what do you want me to do? Fall apart in front of you? Drag you into the hell I can't escape?"
"I want you to trust me," she said, her voice shaking. "I want you to believe that I'm strong enough to stand beside you, no matter what you're carrying."
He looked at her then, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "You don't know what you're asking."
"Then show me," she whispered.
Silence stretched.
Finally, Adrian lowered his head into his hands. His voice was raw, broken. "I still see their faces. Every night. The ones I couldn't save. The ones who looked at me like I was supposed to be a hero but I wasn't. I hear the gunfire, the screams, the silence afterward. And when I look at you... I'm terrified. Because what if one day I can't come back to you at all?"
Her tears slipped free, but she didn't look away, her eyes still stare at him back with love. She reached for his hand, intertwining her fingers through his. "Then we take it one day at a time. Together, and if it comes after you, I'll be here with you. Always."
He stared at her stunned as if he couldn't believe she meant it. Then, slowly, he leaned forward, pressing his forehead to hers. His breath shuddered, his voice barely audible. "I don't deserve you."
"You deserve love," she whispered back. "And you have mine."
That night, as they lay together, Adrian's breathing finally calmed close to peace. Elena stayed awake long after, her hand resting over his heart, feeling the steady beat beneath her palm.
She knew this was only the beginning, that his pain won't vanish overnight, that the war within him would not end easily.
But she also knew this: love was not about perfection. It was about staying when the nights grew dark, holding on when the world tried to pull them apart.
And she would hold on for as long as the stars remembered them.