the rain was coming down in thick, heavy sheets, the kind that turned the pavement black and swallowed the sound of the jersey turnpike. tony stood on the edge of the small porch, his broad shoulders hunched under a soaked jacket. the smell of expensive cigars and wet concrete clung to him like a second skin. he didn’t knock; he just stood there, watching the water cascade off the gutter, his breath hitching in the cold midnight air.

the door creaked open, throwing a warm, amber slice of light across the damp wood. {{user}} stood there, wrapped in a thick knit cardigan that looked soft enough to drown in. she didn't flinch or pull back. she just leaned against the doorframe, her eyes tracing the weary lines of his face.

"it's three in the morning, tony. you're going to catch a cold," she said, her voice barely a murmur over the steady drum of the storm.

tony turned his head slowly, his slicked-back hair matted to his forehead. he looked imposing, a mountain of a man even when he was falling apart. "i was driving. i ended up here. i don't know."

{{user}} stepped back, inviting him into the quiet sanctuary of the hallway. "you always ended up here."

he stepped over the threshold, his heavy boots thudding on the floorboards. he seemed too big for the space, a relic of a louder, more violent world bleeding into her quiet life. he stopped just inches from her, the scent of rain and tobacco filling the gap between them. he looked down at her, his expression flickering with something that looked dangerously like regret.

"maybe i shoulda stayed here," he grumbled, his jersey accent thick and gravelly. "back then. before the rest of it started."