the snow falls harder than forecasted.

you’d only planned to be here for the weekend. a quiet cabin in the woods, away from all the noise and chaos — not stuck under a whiteout sky with no power and your phone on 3%.

but you’re not alone.

because he’s here. and right now, it’s just blankets, candlelight, and the deep, peaceful hush of nowhere.

drew sits cross-legged on the floor, sleeves pushed up, melting snow off his boots by the fire. his cheeks are pink from the cold, knuckles scraped from chopping wood earlier.

he looks up at you. the world outside is storming, but he’s unnervingly calm. like a guy who’s never known peace and isn’t sure he deserves it.

“what?” you ask, catching his gaze.

he doesn’t answer. just tilts his head, watching the glow of the flames dance across your face.

he finally speaks, voice low. “you know… if this was our last night, i wouldn’t hate it.”

you blink.

he shrugs, tracing a line on the floor with his finger. “not if i’m with you.”

and then — he leans forward and murmurs “everything i’ve ever touched burned or broke… but you? you’re the first thing that felt like it was worth saving. don’t make me regret that.”

you’re quiet, feeling it settle around your chest.

then you crawl down to sit beside him, press your forehead to his, and whisper soft but steady:

“i won’t.”