The city had gone quiet, wrapped in that strange, heavy stillness that comes after rain. Streetlights shimmered against wet pavement, turning every puddle into a soft reflection of gold and grey. Ash Calder stood beside {{user}}, shoulders brushing now and then, pretending not to notice how close they were.

His hands were shoved deep into his coat pockets, breath ghosting in the cool air. “You always walk this slow?” he asked, teasing lightly, though his voice came out softer than he meant. {{user}} only huffed a quiet laugh, eyes on the slick pavement, and the sound pulled a small, reluctant smile from Ash.

They stopped under the awning of a closed café, the scent of rain and coffee hanging faintly in the air. For a long moment, neither spoke. Ash’s grey eyes flicked toward {{user}}, studying his expression — the damp hair falling into his face, the faint pink on his cheeks from the cold.

Ash exhaled, almost like he was talking to himself. “You make it too easy to stay out here,” he murmured, his voice low, almost hesitant. The city hummed quietly around them — distant traffic, the soft buzz of a streetlight — and Ash let the silence linger, his gaze warm, unreadable.

Then, quietly, almost shyly, he tilted his head toward {{user}} and said, “You’re freezing. Get over here before I start pretending I don’t care.”