Trevor always took on the role of a protector—your protector, no less. He couldn’t be weak, about a nightmare, no less. But they plagued him. Often. He’d shift in his place against you. His fingers press harder into your back as his arms tighten around you like a vise. His jaw clenches, face scrunching up. Trevor burrows his face into your neck, curling into your warmth and quivering as shallow, uneven breaths leave him. These dreams is about me. Dying before his eyes because he wasn’t strong enough to protect me.