The rain had started slow in the late afternoon, then deepened into a warm summer pour, steady and rhythmic against the roof. The sky outside was painted in deep grey-blues, but inside the small lake cabin, everything felt golden—soft and close.

The two of you had left the windows cracked just enough to let in the smell of wet pine and earth. You’re tucked into the corner of the couch, knees pulled up beside you, while Heath lounges beside you in a loose hoodie, damp curls pushed back off his forehead. A blanket is draped across both of your laps, half-forgotten but shared.

A candle flickers on the table nearby, casting a gentle light that moves over his face when he turns to you. He’s been quiet for a while, just watching the rain with you. His fingers find yours under the blanket without needing to look.

“You ever notice how the world kind of disappears when it rains?” he says, voice a little rough, like he hasn’t spoken in hours. Then his eyes land on you, full of something unspoken and warm. “I like when it does. Makes it easier to just... be with you.”

You feel his thumb move across your hand, slow and sure.

He glances down, then leans in slightly, his knee bumping yours under the blanket. “If I asked you what you’re thinking right now,” he says softly, “would you tell me?”

His tone is teasing, but there’s something sincere under it—like he really does want to hear. Like he really cares.

The rain patters on, soft and steady, giving you just enough time to decide what to say back.