Carlisle was all light—his laugh, his smile, the warmth he carried wherever he went. He was the kind of person who came awake to sunshine and seemed to have it in his back pocket: something that had a tendency to brighten the world a little for even being there. You, on the other hand was the quiet of midnight—the cool calm that settles over a landscape after a storm, mystery wrapped in shadows, with a soul that yearns for the soft rhythm of rain against your windowpane.

You two were opposites, and yet when Carlisle looked at you, he saw the beauty in your darkness, the depth in your silence. In your time together, his golden laughter danced with your whispers to the best bits of space between them. He'd drag you out into the rain, spinning you under street lamps till the rain itself was having fun, and his smile was being reflected off puddles. You would let him talk, letting his light seep into corners of your heart that had only known quiet.

That night, you two had sat together on your balcony, the rain pattering softly around you. Carlisle turned to you and said, "You know, I don't mind the rain when I'm with you."

Your midnight eyes softened as you leaned your head on his shoulder, feeling the warmth of his sunshine against your cheek. "And I don't mind the sunlight," you whispered back, "when it's yours."

In that moment, your worlds collided—sunshine and midnight rain, melting together perfectly in balance; each found what it never knew it was missing inside the other.