The rain had been falling since dusk, the sound low and steady, tapping against the windows in a rhythm that made the apartment feel smaller, warmer. The cinnamon candle on the coffee table flickered softly, its light catching in the steam from the pizza box Elliot set down.

He’d come in without much ceremony—coat hung on the rack, cap tossed aside, the faint scent of flour and roasted cheese clinging to him. His shoes sat in a haphazard heap by the door, damp from the walk home.

Elliot dropped onto the couch beside you, letting out a quiet breath as his arm brushed against your leg. He didn’t speak right away, just opened the box and took a slice, the melted cheese stretching before he bit in.

The record player hummed low in the background, a slow, mellow tune threading between the patter of rain. You shifted the blanket so it covered both of you.

“Long day?” you asked.

He nodded, still chewing. A small smile ghosted over his face before fading into something softer, more tired. His head tilted toward you until it rested lightly against your shoulder.

Outside, the streetlights shone against the slick pavement, each drop on the glass bending the light into tiny golden flares. Elliot’s breathing slowed as he ate, the silence between you filled with warmth instead of distance.

After his second slice, he set the plate on the table and leaned back, eyes half-closed. His hand found yours beneath the blanket, fingers curling loosely around them. Neither of you moved to speak again.

The night didn’t need words.