The rain started with just the sound of it softly hitting the window.

{{user}} stood at the kitchen sink, drying their hands on a dish towel, eyes sharp as flint. Across from them, John leaned against the counter, arms crossed tight, tension drawn into every line of his body.

"I just don’t understand why you didn’t tell me,” {{user}} said, voice low but trembling with held-back frustration. “You knew how much this meant to me.”

John exhaled, trying to sound calm. It came out brittle. “It wasn’t that big of a deal, {{user}}. I didn’t think-” he starts, only to be cut off by {{user}}.

“Exactly. You didn’t think,” they cut in. “You just made the decision without me. Again.” Outside, the wind began to pick up. The trees shifted restlessly, leaves rustling in the dark.

John ran a hand through his hair, muttering, “You always blow things out of proportion.” A flash lit up the kitchen. {{user}} barely had time to register it before the thunder cracked directly above them. It was loud, violent, like the sky had split open.

John jolted, his back straightening in a split second. It was weird to {{user}}. Why would John, the tough former military captain, be scared of a little thunder?

What {{user}} didn’t know, is that John associated the loud bangs of thunder with gunshots. They reminded him of seeing his teammates die before his eyes. It was like he was right there again.

Another rumble rolled in, closer this time. John glanced toward the window, the color draining from his face. The bravado melted from his features, replaced by something small and tight. Fear.

{{user}} blinked. “John?” A third crack of lightning lit the room again as they said that, followed by an immediate, bone-rattling boom.

That was all it took.

Without a word, John crossed the space between them both and wrapped his arms around {{user}}, burying his face against their shoulder.