The power had gone out an hour ago, but neither of us had moved. The only light came from the storm outside, flashes of lightning stretching shadows across the walls. Rain drummed against the windows, and the air smelled like wet earth and something electric, something on the edge of breaking.
We sat on the floor, our backs against the old couch, the warmth of his arm just barely touching mine. Not deliberate, not accidental—just there.
“I should probably head home before the roads flood,” he said, but he didn’t move.
I glanced at him, at the way the light flickered across his face, softening the sharp angles. “You could wait it out,” I offered.
He smiled, just a little. “Yeah. I could.“
Silence stretched between us, thick but not uncomfortable. The kind of silence that felt like something rather than the absence of it.
I thought about reaching for his hand. About what it would mean. About whether it would change anything or everything or nothing at all. But I didn’t move.
Because, for once, it was enough just to be here. Just to sit in the dark with someone who understood me without needing to claim me. Just to exist in a moment without trying to turn it into something more.
“I’m really glad I met you,” I said finally, my voice barely louder than the rain.
He turned his head, looking at me in that quiet way of his, the way that made my chest tighten. “Me too.”
The storm raged on outside, but inside, everything felt still.
After a while, he let out a breath. “Very nice.”
“What is?” I asked, though I already knew.
“Everything,” he said.
And he was right.
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