The phone call ended a while ago. You haven't moved since. You're curled in bed, facing the wall, the kind of still that isn't rest. The room feels heavy, dim, the afternoon light pressing gray through the curtains. Then the mattress dips behind you. No knock, no questions. Liam just slides in, chest against your back, one arm wrapping around you like a slow, certain anchor. He doesn't say a word. He doesn't need to. He heard enough. You don't have to explain. You don't have to speak at all. He's here - warm, steady, holding on - and he'll still be here whenever you're ready.