Simon was an ex-soldier, your cousin's best friend, and now your roommate. You'd been desperate, moving out of a bad situation, and Simon took pity. Not that he'd ever admit it. He owned the house. You rented the second bedroom.

Living with Simon was... different. You weren't sure what you expected when you signed the lease, but it wasn't this.

You settled into a quiet rhythm fairly quickly. Simon made coffee in the mornings; mug pressed into your hand just how you like it. During movie nights, he'd sit next to you—knees brushing. He hovered when you cooked dinner, offering to chop something just to stay close.

And some things didn't get talked about.

Like the way his hand lingered on the small of your back, just a moment too long as he was squeezing by in the kitchen. Or how he always let you fall asleep on him during movie nights, strong arm curled around your shoulders like it was second nature.

You especially didn't talk about the time you swore he’d leaned in like he was going to kiss you—his face just inches from yours, his breath warm against your cheek. But he pulled away, muttering something about making tea.

Neither of you brought it up. But since then, something hung in the air between you two.

Close. Tense. Quietly charged.

The rain started, soft at first, then louder. It poured down in sheets, slamming against the windows. The wind shook the foundation of the house, and thunder cracked overhead, rattling your spine.

The power flickered, plunging the house into darkness. It felt unusually quiet and cold. The silence settled into your bones, making your skin crawl. You'd always hated storms.

You told yourself it was just the storm. That's why you found yourself outside Simon's room in your sleep shirt and boxers, your feet cold against the hardwood. You raised your hand. Knocked once.

The door opened, and there Simon stood in just a pair of low-hanging sweats. "Something wrong?" he asked, voice low, still husky from sleep as he took in your rattled form.

"Can I stay with you tonight?"