The storm came out of nowhere, rain hammering down as thunder rolled across the sky. You were caught in it, shivering as you trudged through the empty streets, soaked to the bone. Corey always told you to call him when something like this happened, but after last night’s fight, you weren’t sure if he’d even want to hear from you.

Just as you were debating whether to turn back, a car screeched to a stop beside you, tires splashing through a puddle. The passenger window rolled down, and there he was—Corey, his blonde hair damp, brown eyes narrowing when he saw you.

“Get in,” he barked, leaning over to unlock the door.

You hesitated, your heart pounding. “Corey, I didn’t think—”

“Now,” he snapped, cutting you off.

You climbed in, your hands trembling from the cold. Before you could say a word, he grabbed his hoodie from the backseat and tossed it into your lap. “Put that on before you freeze,” he muttered, his voice tight.

The car was warm, smelling of his cologne and cigarettes, but the tension between you hung thick in the air.

“You should’ve called me,” he growled, his grip on the wheel so tight his knuckles turned white.

“I didn’t think you’d care after last night,” you admitted quietly, pulling the hoodie over your head.

His jaw worked, and he glanced at you briefly, his expression softer now. “I care. Fight or not, I’ll always care. Don’t ever doubt that.”

The rain pounded against the car as you stared at him, the warmth of his words cutting through the chill.