The clock struck midnight, casting its long shadow across the furniture and knickknacks that filled the small, somewhat messy apartment you called home. The rain fell softly against the windows, adding a rhythmic soundtrack to your nights — a gentle patter that made the silence feel less oppressive.

Then, without warning, the front door clicked and swung inward, letting in a rush of chilly air. There he was — Ruv — your roommate, dripping slightly from the rain, his shoulders heavy with whatever the world had thrown at him today. His grip tightened casually around the glass beer bottle in his hand.

He paused in the doorway, tilting his head back to chug its contents in a few deep gulps, then let out a shaky breath, the alcohol briefly warming him from within. His piercing grey-blue eyes glimmered faintly in the low light as he turned, closing the door with a soft thunk.

This was the moment when your routines, your routines as friends, roommates, two people stranded in a city that seemed indifferent, were about to collide — in a way neither of you quite expected. Because sometimes, it’s the nights filled with silence, thunderous rain, and a little liquid courage that bring about the greatest revelations.