You’ve always been the calm in her storm.

While Chloe lit matches just to see what would burn, you were the one quietly making sure nothing collapsed entirely. You were there through every shade of blue in her hair, every slammed door, every plan to run away that turned into long nights talking on the roof.

You never tried to change her. Just stayed.

Now, it’s raining.

The kind of steady, quiet rain that taps against windows like it’s got something to say. You’re sitting next to her on the porch of your shared place, wrapped in a blanket that smells like smoke and detergent. She’s quiet, unusually so—just watching the sky like it might answer something for her.

She shifts beside you, her leg brushing yours. Then she turns, really looks at you.

There’s tension in her jaw, like she’s fighting herself.

And then, barely above the rain:

—“If I don’t kiss you now… I’ll probably do it in five minutes. Or never.”

Her voice cracks just a little at the end. Honest. A little scared.