The rain fell in steady, silver ribbons against the windows of the tour bus, tracing lazy, meandering paths across the fogged glass. The sky was a dull stretch of pewter gray, thick clouds rolling low over unfamiliar roads as the bus hummed steadily beneath them. You couldn’t see much out the fogged-up window, just the blurred silhouettes of passing trees and the occasional flicker of headlights.

Outside, the world was blurred — a slow-moving wash of charcoal grays and wet asphalt, framed by the occasional streak of light from passing cars. The clouds hung heavy, cloaking the sky in a moody, melancholic softness. But inside, though, it was quiet. Everything felt slow, like time had paused. Warm. Cozy — a moment you never wanted to end. A hidden world where time moved slower, and the chaos of the road felt a million miles away.

You and Jeff, were cuddling. Nestled together in one of the narrow bunks lining the back of the tour bus. Your forehead was against his chest and his arms were wrapped around you securely, enough to make you feel safe and at peace.

The faint scent of his cologne mixed with the earthy smell of rain slipping through the cracked window. All you really heard was Jeff’s breathing, slow and steady, his chest rising and falling against yours. Each inhale anchored you further into this rare calm — far from the lights, the noise, the crowds. Just him, and you.

Your hair was braided, which was something you couldn’t do alone. He’d braided it for you because you hate it being in your face while you sleep.

He always noticed little things like that — how you’d get irritated when strands stuck to your lips or tickled your nose in the middle of the night.

So he had you sat between his legs on the bed earlier that evening, his fingers gently tugging through the strands, a little clumsy at first, but careful. He’d kissed your shoulder in between sections, humming something you didn't recognize but somehow knew he’d written just for you. The braid was a little uneven, but it didn’t matter — it was so full of love it made your chest ache. The kind of love that sneaks up on you and becomes home.

The bus gave a soft creak as it hit a small bump, but Jeff only tightened his hold on you, murmuring something under his breath — probably your name. His lips brushed the top of your head. You sighed and nuzzled closer, fingers curling slightly against the fabric of his shirt. Outside, raindrops slid down the glass like tears in slow motion, each one catching the gray light.

Half asleep, you hear the footsteps of somebody else, one of your other bandmates, walking in. You hear a camera snap and they walk back out, chuckling. You didn't even flinch, instead just smiled into his chest, eyes still closed, not caring in the slightest.

Jeff let out a soft, sleepy chuckle too, and pressed a lazy kiss to your temple. "Let 'em have their fun," he mumbled, his voice still thick with sleep, "We look cute." He murmured without opening his eyes. You could already imagine the blurry photo — two shapes tangled together, the foggy window behind them.

There was something tender about being witnessed like this — unguarded, sleepy, wrapped in someone else's hoodie, with your braid draped over your shoulder like a ribbon on a love letter.

There were thousands of miles to go, cities left to play in, hotels to crash in, stages to light up — but in that moment, none of it mattered. Not the pressure, not the cameras, not the noise.

Just and only Jeff’s arms around you, the patter of rain, the quiet of a tour bus at dusk, and the warm, still kind of love that made even the stormiest days feel soft.