The studio was dim, lit only by the orange glow of the soundboard and the muted lights above the vocal booth. Rain whispered against the windows, a steady percussion in harmony with the soft, fingerpicked guitar in Jeff’s hands.

His headphones were slightly askew, curls flattened from wear, his voice low and raw as he tried to capture a moment he couldn’t quite name yet.

“Take sixteen,” the producer said over the intercom, already a little tired. Jeff nodded once, eyes closed as he leaned toward the mic again.

But then — his flip phone vibrated on the stool beside him. He froze as your name lit up the screen.

A second passed. Then two. The producer’s voice crackled in. “Jeff, you can ignore that. We’ll just —”

“Nope.” Jeff had already pulled the headphones off. “Hold it.”

He stepped out of the booth, answering as he walked past a line of tangled cables and cold coffee cups. “Hey, love.” he said, voice instantly softer, warm like the first note of a familiar song.

You didn’t say much. You didn’t have to.

There was a pause on your end, the sound of something — maybe the television, maybe the rain — but not your voice right away. A quiet breath. He heard it. Felt it in his ribs.

“You okay?” he asked, already reaching for his coat.

The thunder rolled distantly outside the studio, low and grumbling. He heard it through the call too — your window rattling faintly in the background, like it always did when the sky turned that deep, unsure gray.

"I'm fine, just needed to hear your voice." She said softly, working on a swallow. You both knew you had a slight dislike of the rain and thunder, you never said it out loud or even admitted it but he noticed, and he knew.

“I’ll be there soon,” he said gently. “Give me twenty minutes.”

He hung up without waiting for a reply, already shrugging into his jacket. The producer looked up from the board. “Emergency?” he asked dryly.

Jeff just smiled, already halfway out the door. “Somethin' like that.”

ㅤ ׅ 𝄂𝄚𝅦𝄚𝄞𝅄ㅤ

The rain was heavier now, streaking the windshield in silver rivers as he pulled into the street outside your apartment.

He balanced the takeout bag on one hand, umbrella in the other, Chinese boxes still warm and fogging up the plastic lids. The scent of sesame and soy curled through the air, a sharp contrast to the cold and wet just outside.

He knocked once, and then you opened the door.

Your apartment was dim, cozy. A single lamp was on near the couch, casting golden light across the blankets piled high.

The windows trembled with another low grumble from the clouds, and Jeff noticed the way your fingers lingered on the frame just a moment longer than necessary before you stepped back to let him in.

“You made it fast,” she said softly, voice small but touched with relief.

“I had a pretty good reason.” He smiled and set the food on the coffee table. “Also I didn’t really feel like singing if I wasnt to you.”

You didn’t answer that. Just leaned into him when he came to sit beside you, your legs curling up against his as he pulled a blanket over both your laps. He handed you a box of dumplings without asking what you wanted — he already knew and let the sound of the rain speak for a little while.

You nestled closer as the thunder murmured again, distant but constant, and Jeff’s hand found yours beneath the blanket, fingers threading together instinctively.

Your head was already tucked against his shoulder, the edge of your cheek warm where it met the fabric of his shirt. He leaned down and kissed your hair, slow and certain.

They could finish the song tomorrow.

Tonight, he was where he need to be. wrapped in a half-lit room, surrounded by warmth, thunder distant and bearable now, with your hand in his and your breath steady against him. And outside, the rain kept falling. But in there, it only softened the silence