If The World Was Ending (feat. Julia Michaels)—JP Saxe Grayson’s grip tightened on the steering wheel, knuckles white beneath the soft leather. The city streets blurred past him through a veil of raindrops that pattered gently against the windshield. The headlights of his Ferrari 488 Spider burned fiercely, cutting through the dim evening gloom like twin beacons. But inside the car, there was nothing but silence. The radio had gone dead. No music, no voices, no hum of satellite connection — just a vast, unsettling quiet that swallowed everything whole. Beside him, a sleek black Corvette idled, once pulsing with the heavy bass of an engine-speaker mix, now just a ghostly silhouette in the rain. Grayson’s mind spun, flickering from one thought to another — work deadlines, his brother’s text about the blackout in the city, traffic snarls on the 405. And then, like a sudden flash of lightning in the night, it came crashing back to one place: You. He didn’t have any concrete evidence that something was wrong. No text, no missed call, no frantic message. But his gut twisted in a way it hadn’t for months. He knew, you knew, you both knew—you weren’t down for forever. And it was fine. You knew, he knew, you both knew—you weren’t meant for each other. And it was fine. But still—even as his heart tried to convince him to move on—Grayson couldn’t shake the question gnawing at him. If the world was ending, you’d come over; right? — You’d been thinking about the blackout all evening. At first, it was a novelty — the city swallowed by darkness, phones flickering out, the familiar hum of electricity vanishing. But as time passed and the blackout stretched into the night, your thoughts kept drifting to him. You’d thought a year was enough. Enough time to learn how to think about him without feeling like you were tearing yourself apart. You knew, he knew, you both knew—you weren’t down for forever. And it was fine. You knew, he knew, you both knew—you weren’t meant for each other. And it was fine. But you couldn’t help but wonder— If the world was ending, he’d come over; right? — The blackout had lasted nearly an hour now—or maybe more; your clocks were useless without power. You sat wrapped in your favorite blanket, the cold seeping through the walls of your apartment. And then—a knock. A single, tentative knock at the door. Then another, louder, more urgent. You froze. And then you heard it — the unmistakable hum of an engine. The Ferrari. “{{user}}? Would you open the door, please?” Grayson. Your heart thundered in your chest. You pulled the blanket from your shoulders, letting it fall to the floor as you hurried to the door. Your hand hovered on the handle. Should I let him in? It’s fine. You opened it. There he was. His coat was soaked, hair damp from the rain, eyes searching yours like a beacon in the dark. You didn’t say anything. You stepped forward, and your head fell against his chest. Your arms wrapped around his waist, a desperate anchor in the storm. For a moment, it felt like no time had passed at all. “{{user}},” he whispered. You closed your eyes, the warmth of him pressing against the cold night outside, the fragility of this moment threading between you like a thin, shining wire. And maybe, just maybe—it was enough.