The storm hit harder than anyone thought it would.

Wind howling against the shutters. Snow piling up faster than the old generator could handle. One flicker — two — and then the whole inn sank into darkness, swallowing every corner of light.

You were halfway down the narrow staircase when it went out. The world tilted. You grabbed the railing, heartbeat thudding against the silence.

Then—Heavy footsteps. The soft scrape of boots on wood. And a voice you recognized even before the shape of him appeared at the foot of the stairs.

“Stay there. Power’s out."

Luca said, voice low, steady even when everything else wasn’t.

"Don’t bloody fall down the stairs, yeah?”

You heard the faint shuffle of him lighting a match — a tiny flare of orange against the dark — and then the warm bob of a candle catching. It barely lit more than a few feet ahead, but it was enough to see him.

The lines of his face were softer in the flickering glow. Less guarded. His hair was a mess, one hand running through it like he hadn’t even realized. His jacket was half-buttoned, as if he’d rushed out the door the second the lights cut.

“Come on, love." He said, reaching out without thinking, palm open in the space between you.

You hesitated for a breath — just one. And then your fingers found his. Rough, warm, careful.

“Kitchen’s got a fireplace." He muttered, his thumb brushing your knuckles like he hadn’t meant to.

“Least we won’t freeze to death if the generator’s knackered.”

You didn’t let go. Neither did he.

Outside, the storm battered the windows. Inside, there was only the low crackle of a candle and the small, steady weight of his hand wrapped around yours.