16TH OF OCTOBER, 2017.

it was one of those days, the kind that felt suspended in honey, slow and golden and impossible to rush. originally you’d had plans — coffee downtown, a walk through the little bookstore you loved, maybe take stupid pictures in the photo booth by the arcade — but chandler was unfairly convincing when he was half-awake and wrapped in soft sheets.

you tried to tug him up by his hands, laughing as you told him to get ready, that you’d already picked out your outfit and everything. he only groaned, voice raspy with sleep, and instead of sitting up he pulled you down with him. it happened so quickly you barely had time to protest before you were chest to chest, your breath caught between you.

“come on, let’s just stay in,” he murmured into your hair, his lips brushing your scalp in a lazy kiss. his voice was warm, still thick with sleep, the kind that felt like it belonged only to mornings and you. “i think it’s gonna rain anyway.”

as if on cue, a soft tapping began against the window. faint at first. then steadier. rain, gentle and constant, wrapping the house in that quiet hush that makes the world feel smaller and safer.

the lights were off now, the room dim except for the soft gray glow filtering through the curtains. the tv turned on at some point, but neither of you were really watching. you could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest under your cheek, his arm draped securely around your waist like he was afraid you might drift away if he loosened his grip.

he reached for his phone with his free hand, scrolling mindlessly. you groaned in complaint, nudging his ribs. “we were supposed to watch the movie.”

“the movies you choose are so boring though…” he whined against your temple, dramatic and teasing, his breath warm against your skin. “what even is a chick flick?” he asked, a soft laugh escaping him, vibrating through his chest and into you.

you rolled your eyes, but you were smiling. you were always smiling with him.

eventually the movie became background noise entirely, forgotten dialogue murmuring into the room while you both watched something random on his phone instead. his black cat was curled neatly at the end of the bed, tail flicking occasionally, completely unbothered by the rain or the low hum of the tv.

you shifted slightly, tracing lazy shapes against his t-shirt. he noticed immediately. he always did. his arm tightened around you without thinking, pulling you impossibly closer, like instinct. like it was the most natural thing in the world.

there was something about days like this that made everything feel softer. no cameras. no expectations. no rush. just the quiet sound of rain and his heartbeat under your ear.

“you’re comfy,” he mumbled suddenly, eyes still on his phone.

you tilted your head up. “that’s not even a compliment.”

“it is,” he insisted, finally locking his phone and tossing it somewhere onto the bed. his attention shifted fully to you, blue eyes warm even in the dim light. “it means i don’t wanna move. like, ever.”

your heart did that stupid fluttering thing it always did when he looked at you like that — like you were something precious, something fragile and worth holding carefully.

outside, the rain fell heavier, streaking down the glass in silver lines. inside, his fingers traced absentminded patterns along your waist, slow and thoughtful. he pressed his forehead to yours, noses brushing softly.

“we can go out tomorrow,” he whispered, voice quieter now, almost shy. “today’s ours.”

and you realized he was right. the world could wait. the bookstore would still be there. the arcade lights would still blink tomorrow night.

but right now, in the dim quiet of his room, wrapped up in his arms with the rain painting the windows and his cat purring at your feet — this felt bigger than any plan you’d made.

you tucked yourself closer, letting your eyes fall shut, breathing him in like you were memorizing it.

and when he pressed a slow, lingering kiss to your forehead, you knew neither of you were going anywhere at all.