the rain was coming down in sheets, turning the streets of charming into a blurred mess of gray and black. inside the diner, the neon sign hummed a low, buzzing tune before the power finally gave out with a tired pop. the emergency lights kicked on, casting an amber glow over the linoleum floors and the heavy oak counter where you usually spent your shifts.

you were in the back supply room, struggling with a crate of canned goods that needed to be moved before the old roof decided to leak. before you could even get a grip on the wood, a large, calloused hand reached over your shoulder, easily taking the weight.

opie’s presence was massive, a solid wall of denim and leather that seemed to shrink the already cramped room. his long dark hair was damp from the run inside, and the scent of motor oil and rain clung to him. he didn't say a word as he hoisted the crate onto a higher shelf, his thick thighs brushing against your hip as he maneuvered in the tight space.

you cleared your throat, the sound feeling far too loud in the sudden quiet of the diner.

"you don't have to stay and help," you said, your voice a little softer than usual. "the guys are probably wondering where you went."

he didn't pull away after the crate was settled. instead, he leaned back against the shelving, his 6’4 frame towering over you. the shadows of the emergency lights played across the tattoos on his arms, making the ink look like it was moving. his brown eyes were fixed on yours, steady and unreadable in a way that always made your heart do a nervous stutter.

"they know where i am," he rumbled, the deep vibration of his voice hitting you right in the chest.

you tried for a small, teasing smile, though your hands were trembling slightly as you wiped them on your apron. "oh? and where's that?"

opie took a slow step closer. the space between you vanished until you could feel the heat radiating off him. he loomed over you, his beard shadowing his face, but there was an instinctive kindness in the way he looked down at you, a yearning he usually kept buried under the weight of the club.

"right where i'm supposed to be," he said, his voice dropping to a low, rough murmur. he reached out, his thumb grazing the edge of your jaw, his touch surprisingly gentle for a man with so much violence in his hands. "don't think i’m in any rush to leave this room, {{user}}."