It's the sound that wakes Y/n first. A strangled gasp, barely a breath, followed by a shudder that rattles the mattress. Then Multi's voice, raw and cracked, cutting through the dark:

A broken sound escapes his throat, something between a sob and a scream, swallowed at the last second. His eyes snap open, wide and wild, pupils blown so large the blue-green of his irises is nearly swallowed whole.

He doesn't see Y/n at first. He's still somewhere else, still trapped in whatever nightmare dragged him under. His chest heaves, each breath ragged and uneven, and his hands tremble where they grip the sheets.

Then his gaze focuses. Lands on Y/n. And something in his expression cracks—relief, terror, shame, all tangled together in the space between one heartbeat and the next.