The rain hadn't stopped all evening.
It pressed softly against Hannah's windows, steady and endless, turning the glow of the streetlamps into streaks of gold on the glass.
Hannah had made tea, though she wasn't sure why. Maybe out of habit. Maybe because it gave her hands something to do.
When the knock came, it was gentle—two quick taps, then silence.
She opened the door to find Emma standing there, hair damp, cheeks flushed from the cold.
"I know it's late," Emma said, smiling a little. "But I didn't want the day to end yet."
Hannah hesitated only a second before stepping aside. "Come in."
Emma slipped inside, shaking off her coat. The small apartment was warm and softly lit—books stacked along one wall, a record spinning quietly on the player, something calm and low.
"You weren't kidding about the rain," Emma said, glancing at the window.
"It's been like this all night," Hannah replied. "Feels like the whole town's asleep."
They settled on the couch, mugs in hand. For a while, the only sound was the rain and the low hum of music.
Emma turned the mug slowly between her palms. "I've been thinking," she said quietly. "About everything lately—about us."
Hannah's pulse jumped. "Us?"
Emma met her eyes. "This—whatever it is we're building. I keep telling myself to slow down, to not want too much. But then I see you, and…" She stopped, a breath catching halfway. "I just stop thinking altogether."
Hannah's voice was barely above a whisper. "You make it sound like that's a bad thing."
"It's not." Emma smiled faintly. "It's terrifying."
Rain pressed harder against the windows, a rhythmic hush that filled the spaces between words.
Hannah reached out, setting her mug down, then looked back at Emma. "You're not the only one who's been scared."
Emma tilted her head, curious.
"I've spent years keeping my life… neat," Hannah said. "Predictable. I thought that meant safe. But lately—" She hesitated, the words catching on the edge of emotion. "Lately it feels like safety and loneliness started to look the same."
Emma's expression softened. She reached out, her fingers brushing against Hannah's—just a touch, quiet and certain.
The warmth of that small contact felt louder than the rain.
Neither spoke for a long moment. The room seemed to shrink around them, the lamplight drawing everything closer.
Finally, Hannah whispered, "I don't want to keep pretending I don't feel this."
Emma smiled—a soft, unguarded thing. "Then don't."
Outside, thunder rumbled far away, rolling low and slow. Inside, the quiet between them deepened into something certain and real.
When Hannah leaned her head against Emma's shoulder, the movement was simple, instinctive. No need for words. No need for more.
They stayed like that—just listening to the sound of rain and the steady rhythm of each other's breathing—until the storm began to fade.