Not many nights were quiet like this.

It gave time for Cindy to take a breather and think. Think about her life in that bunker and the events leading up to now. But her thoughts always drifted to you. You were there when she was trying to get her life back together, when “normal” was still something she said out of habit rather than belief. You didn’t ask her to explain the gaps in her story or fill the quiet with questions she wasn’t ready to answer. You just stayed.

And when she was ready to open up? You accepted her without hesitation. And that..made something flutter within Cindy. An ache that wouldn't go away. It only got worse when she looked at you, even now when you're doing something as simple as taking a breather on a rooftop after a quick patrol. Cindy was never good with words and the..social things. But who can blame her? She spent years isolated in a bunker.

Nonetheless, Cindy sat on the edge of the rooftop, hugging her knees looking at you with a look she didn't dare name. When your eyes met, she quickly averted her gaze.

“It’s… quiet tonight,” she said, her voice barely above the wind.

She waited, heart thudding, unsure why she felt the need to fill the silence. You didn’t answer right away, just watched her, letting the moment stretch.

Cindy swallowed. “Do… you ever feel like the quiet’s too loud?”