We're laying in our bed on base, wrapped around each other as we are every night. One of my legs is fixated between both of his and my head rests squarely on his chest, right above his heart that's beating a steady, comforting rhythm. Aaron used to never sleep: But now? When I asked him how he was sleeping lately, he told me, "if you're in my arms, I'll sleep like a baby".

And so he is.

Both arms are resting gently against my back, hugging me to him. His eyes are shut and his breathing is even and he looks so young when he sleeps, so beautiful and innocent. He looks as though his horrors, his demons have never touched him, never torn him apart.

But that is far from true.

He is every bit as broken as I am, he just isn't as quick to admit it.

I've been awake for almost half an hour, awoken from a peaceful sleep by the sound of footsteps in the hall; it's nothing out of the ordinary, just soldiers on duty, protecting the base, protecting Aaron and I. I'm still so oversensitive to any movement though, to any sound. I can hear their boots against the carpet, I can hear the soldiers scratch their ears, I can hear the howling of the wind, and sometimes I swear I can hear them talking three floors down.

And I can hear Aaron's heart. I'd know the sound anywhere. It keeps me in reality, keeps me from slipping off into a world of nightmares and supreme leaders and gunshots and dead friends. It reminds me of what is real, what is mine.

I press my ear tighter against his chest. I count each and every beat.

1.

2.

3.

4—A steady rhythm, on and on.

5.

6.

A pause. A skipped beat.

7.

And then his heart is beating faster, no longer steady, it's erratic and his breathing is uneven, too heavy against my forehead.

He flinches underneath me.

I sit up an instant and slip out of his arms, look down at him.

His lips are parted and now he's tossing and turning, side to side. A slight whispering noise is coming from his lips.

"J-Juliette—" I hear him mutter, the word nothing more than a breath escaping through his gritted teeth. His fingers clench into fists and unclench in a spastic, unnatural action. "Juliette," he says again, more clearly this time.

"Aaron," I say gently, tentatively as he continues to toss from side to side. His eyes are clenched so tight and his fingers are still clenching and unclenching, occasionally he grips at the sheets beneath him and shakes his head.

"No, no," he saying, "no no no—" he's repeating this, interspersed with my name, over and over again. His volume is growing, he's yelling out my name, yelling for me, and that's when I see the tears rolling down his cheeks, slowly, gently, he can't keep his tears from falling in his sleep. He can't put up his usual mask of strength.

He's having a nightmare.

I never thought that he had nightmares.

"Aaron," I say, more forcefully this time. I lean down and grab his shoulders, shake him, hard. "Aaron, wake up!"

He's stilling saying my name, over and over. The tears are still fresh in his cheeks.

"Aaron, please!" I yell, breathing heavily and hoping beyond hope that whatever pain he's feeling is over soon, that he wakes up.

"Juliette!" He says, sitting up too quickly and breathing too hard, too fast. He's sweating, the moonlight from the window leaks in and reflects off the water that sticks to his chest. He runs a hand through his hair, his hairline is slick with sweat too. His eyes are wide wide wide and his chest is heaving. He looks up, looks to his left and sees me.

I reach out and wrap my body around his. I stroke his back gently. "You're okay," I tell him, "it was just a nightmare."

He buries his face in the crook of my neck, leans back on one hand and uses the other to hug me tighter to him. "Thank God, Juliette," he's muttering into my skin, "thank God, you're still here."

"I won't let go until you're ready," I tell him, echoing his words from another night, for a different nightmare.

"Don't ever let go, Juliette," he tells me as he lays down, pulling me with him. We nestle under the covers and hold each other tight, "I won't survive it if you let go," he mutters.

"Aaron, I won't let go, I'm not going anywhere."

"Thank God," he breathes again. He seems to have settled down now. His breathing is even again.

"Aaron?" I ask tentatively as I turn my head to look up at him.

"Yes, love?" He responds, still half asleep.

"What was it about?" I bring my hands up to rest on his stomach as he brushes the hair out of my face with the gentlest of touches.

"Hm?" His eyes are closed now, his thumb lazily tracing circles on my back as his arm rests lightly around me.

"Your nightmare," I state, and I worry momentarily that I shouldn't be asking, that he won't want to talk about it, "what was it about?"

His eyebrows raise, "Oh," he licks his lips, "Losing you," he states plainly, as if it won't break my heart to hear his.

I think on this for a moment, "You don't need to worry about that, Aaron," I sit up halfway, place a hand against his chest, "you don't ever need to worry about that."

"I know," he says as I lay back down, he rubs my back gently as I did for him just minutes before and I lay my head back down on his chest, we assume the position that we'd been sleeping in not even twenty minutes before.

"I love you," I whisper."

"I love you too," he says and presses a kiss to my temple.

I can feel the thump of his heart against my ear again now, slow and comforting as he drifts back off to sleep, steady enough to count and unmistakably his.

1.

2.

3.

4.

The sound puts me to sleep again.

Loosely inspired by the song "The Sound" by The 1975.