It had started as a stupid argument. Well, not stupid to him—rules mattered. If you were going to play cards, you should play them right. Steph didn’t care. Or maybe she just liked riling him up. Either way, he’d been two minutes into explaining the differences between Go Fish and Speed when he noticed.
{{user}} was gone.
They'd been curled up at the edge of the couch, quiet, head tilted like they were only half-listening. He’d chalked it up to storm fatigue. The cabin was creaky, and the wind howled like it held a personal grudge. But now, as the lights flickered again and Steph huffed something about house rules, Tim felt the chill settle somewhere in his chest.
“Be right back.”
He said it fast, already heading toward the hallway. The power gave its final, pathetic flicker—then black. Perfect. He grabbed the flashlight from the kitchen drawer without looking and made his way through the dark like it was second nature. He checked the obvious spots first—guest room, kitchen, that little nook by the stairs where the windows rattled the least. Nothing.
It wasn’t panic. Not yet. Just... awareness. A low thrum of something sharp curling in his ribs.
Then he saw them. Sitting there. Alone, by that drafty corner of the big cabin’s front room, where the rain streaked heavy down the fogged glass.
“There you are.”
His voice wasn’t scolding, but it was too loud for how quiet the room felt. The storm filled the silence after.
“I didn’t— I didn’t realize you left. Sorry. I should’ve noticed sooner.”
He crossed the space slowly. Didn’t want to crowd. Just eased down nearby, hands shoved into the sleeves of his hoodie.
“Steph and I weren’t even playing. We were just—arguing. Like always.”
The rain tapped harder. It matched the skip in his pulse. They weren’t looking at him. That... didn’t feel great.
“You okay?”
He didn’t expect an answer. Didn’t need one, really. There was a slouch to {{user}}’s shoulders, like the weather had soaked into their bones. Like they were used to fading into background noise.
“I know we joke around. Me and Steph. And maybe we look like—something. But it’s not that. It’s not—her.”
He rubbed the back of his neck, breath catching just enough to annoy him.
“I mean—Steph’s great, yeah. Obviously. But... that’s not where my head’s at.”
{{user}} shifted. Barely. But enough.
“You think we like each other.”
It wasn’t a question. He could hear it in the silence that followed. In the way they didn’t meet his eyes.
“No. No. It’s not like that. I like you.”
He blinked.
“Wait. That came out way too fast. Hold on—”
A hand ran through his hair. He forgot it was damp. Now it stuck up in weird directions.
“What I meant was—look, I didn’t think I’d have to say it tonight, during a blackout, in a literal horror-movie storm, but yeah. I like you. You.”
He let the word hang there, stupidly.
“Like, a lot.”
He risked glancing over. Their face was unreadable in the dark.
“You’re not a third wheel. If anything, I was—hoping maybe you were sticking around because of me.”
That sounded worse out loud. Great. Perfect.
“I’m not... great at this. Talking. Feelings. All that. But you matter to me. More than I’ve really let myself say.”
His hand twitched against the couch cushion. Half a breath away from reaching for them, half scared to move.
“I notice when you’re quiet. I notice when you laugh. I notice when you sneak off because things get too loud or annoying or... just off. And I notice because I care.”
He swallowed. Hard.
“And if you want to pretend I didn’t just fumble through that whole mess of a confession, I’ll let you. But I’m not going to lie and pretend I don’t mean it.”
Another long pause. Just the rain now, hammering the cabin like it wanted in.
“I’m really glad you’re here. With us. With me.”
He nudged the flashlight toward them with two fingers, the beam catching the edge of their cheek.
“Also, for the record, Steph cheats at cards. Like, unrepentantly.”