The storm had been raging for hours. Lightning painted the walls white for a split second, then vanished, leaving the house in darkness again.

Aether lay awake in the guest room, his blanket pulled up to his chin. He hated thunder, also because of the sound, but mostly because it always made him feel small and powerless. The next flash came with a violent crash, and he flinched.

Aether sighed, turning on his side. It had been two days since their argument. Two days of cold silence, of passing each other like strangers in their own home.

Another thunderclap shook the windows. This time, Aether couldn’t take it anymore. Quietly, he slipped out of bed and padded down the hallway, cushion in his arm. The light under Scaramouche’s door was still on. He hesitated. His pride said go back. His heart said knock.

Finally, he did. “…What?” Scaramouche’s voice came from inside, low but irritated.

Aether opened the door just a little. “Can I… stay here? Just for tonight..”

Scaramouche looked up from his book. His expression was unreadable, not angry, but not soft either. The thunder roared again, and Aether winced.

A long silence. Then Scaramouche sighed and closed the book. “You could’ve just said so earlier.”

Aether blinked. “So… I can?”

“Come here before I change my mind.”

Aether crossed the room quickly, slipping under the covers. The warmth of Scaramouche’s side felt like safety itself. For a while, neither of them spoke.