He always waited for her to fall asleep first.

He wasn't sure why, but he always waited for her to fall asleep. About a week after they first ended up tangled up in sheets, he figured out her routine. He would lay to the right of Eleanor, staring at the ceiling and counting the moments until she would kick her left leg and mumble some word that he couldn't unscramble out into his ear. Even when she was passed out drunk, the moment he felt the hot air fan over his jaw and a smooth leg rub up against his, he knew she was fast asleep. And only then did he feel safe enough to drift off himself.

He hated her for a bit. He really did. After her father was stabbed and every piece of her fucking world was crumbling around her, she sent him away. He knows why she did; in the moment speculation, emotions were high, all that bull shit. But deep down he knew that she knew he was innocent. And how could she do that to herself? Deny the only person who could help her, who could sympathize with her, and condemn him to prison. Sitting in that jail cell, he loathed her for single-handedly taking away her one sense of security, a source of steadiness. He hated her for making her life worse.

But she came back to him – she always does – and things had gotten much worse in the time he was gone. Wanting to meet that guy under the bridge (really, how could she have been so stupid?), finding out her father wasn't actually her's, Liam leaving, and the fact that she couldn't trust anyone. And yet, she came to him.

As night fell things had gotten impossibly more screwed up. By the time one thirty rolled around he was more than willing to rip Eleanor's clothes off, release her of some of the shit she's been through – at least for a couple hours – and forget the past twelve hours. After her thighs were clenched around his head, knuckles white from her death grip his hair, and back arched to an impossible angle off the bed, he let himself rest his forehead on her stomach. Just breathing in her scent made him completely relaxed, and when she coaxed a small moan from his lips just from lightly tracing his back, he knew he was fucked.

He didn't hook up with her, surprisingly. He knew she was exhausted, and just the thought of making her endure another second of her fucked up world made his blood boil. So when she palmed his erection through his pants, he simply shook his head, swatted her hands away, and pushed her too-thin body back onto the mattress. Like always, he lied down next to her and started counting.

It took two minutes for her leg to kick.

But it only took thirty seconds after that for her phone to start ringing.

His stomach dropped before she could even answer it. As she slowly shook herself out of her short lived sleep, he lay still next to her, praying to a God he didn't believe in to please please please not let it be him. Eleanor sat up against the headboard, naked body glowing in the dark, and brought the phone to her ear. By the time he propped himself on his elbows the phone had been chucked across the room and her cry of agony had echoed across the room.

Her hands were covering her face when he scooped her up into his arms. He grabbed the back of her head and pushed her face into his neck, trying to drown out the screams he knew would last him a lifetime. She shook like a leaf on his lap, arms not even strong enough to wrap around him to ground her. He could feel her heaving as she sobbed, and no matter how hard he pressed her to him she wouldn't stop.

He tried whispering to her. Shh, it's okay. It really wasn't. And there was no way she was going to be quiet. I'm here. He was, but to be honest she probably didn't even know where she was at the moment. I know. He did know, but she doesn't.

Ten minutes of rubbing, rocking, and whispering passed before he – unsuccessfully got her on her feet. Her legs were shaking so much that her had to catch her the second he drew away. Still crying, he set her on the edge of the bed and grabbed a handful of clothes out of one of the drawers on her dresser. Being as gentle as he could, he dressed her in a ripped shirt and leggings, knowing that it wasn't at all what some would call proper but not giving enough of a damn to care. After rubbing off some of the make up under her eyes, he easily lifted her up into his arms and set across the palace.

He wasn't sure when, but somehow Eleanor had gathered up enough strength to throw her arms around his neck. They spasmodically gripped the skin there every time she hiccuped through a sob; and he couldn't care more about the scratches that she was leaving in plain sight. Just the fact that she was coming back to him made him grip her just a bit tighter. I got you.

By the time they reached the line of maids and body guards she had somewhat regained her composure. Tears still streamed down her blotchy, red, swollen face but the heaving and gasping had stopped – that was, until she saw her brother. When Liam stepped out of the room, he could practically hear her heart rip in half again.

He handed Eleanor over to her brother – out of respect, not want – when they were close enough. She needed to be with Liam, at least for right now. But it still didn't stop his hand from shooting out to grab her when the prince didn't support her correctly. When he was sure she was safe, he stepped to the side amongst two other guards, removing his eyes from the grieving siblings. They were rushed into a private room not long after that.

It was an hour of agony before he saw her again. She walked on wobbly legs next to her brother, her face now hard and eyes focused on him. He met her halfway, hand instinctively grabbing her elbow, drawing her closer and keeping her steady. Liam nodded once before taking off in an opposite direction, and that was all Jasper needed before leading Eleanor back towards her room. When they were out of sight of the others, she was scooped back up into his arms.

Behind the closed doors of her room, he once again stripped her of her clothes; this time his joined hers on the floor as well. With the doors securely locked, he climbed into the bed next to her, pulling her naked body close to his. He didn't care that they're not about this. The cuddling, the whispers, the loving. But by this point he just needed to feel her heart beat next to his and he'd be damned if she didn't want the same. At some point in the night, she began to weep again. He simply pulled her closer and stroked her hair, muttering things in her ear that she wouldn't remember in the morning.

He didn't let out the breath he'd been holding for hours until he felt her leg kick against his. This night, there was no word. He almost wished there was.

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