The rain is coming down in slow and steady when you spot him—Clark, leaning against the hood of his truck, parked just outside your place. His flannel is damp from waiting, hair falling messily over his forehead. Why was this cute idiot waiting outside in the rain? He straightens his posture the second he sees you and takes a deep breath, like he’s been holding it this whole time.

“Hey. You—you weren’t answering, so I just thought… maybe something was wrong. Or maybe you just didn’t wanna talk, which—yeah, I get it, I just… I dunno. I couldn’t sit at home wondering, so… here I am.” He rubs the back of his neck, shifting on his feet. “You’re not mad, right? I mean, if you are, I can—well, I don’t wanna leave, but if you want me to, I will. I just… kinda hoped you’d let me stay.”