Lucas

The storm had been building all evening—thick, low clouds pressing against the rooftops until the sky felt heavy enough to collapse. By midnight, it finally broke. Rain hammered the apartment complex like a thousand fists, rattling gutters, streaking down windows in frantic rivers. Thunder rolled so violently it made the hallway lights flicker, humming with a faint electric buzz that barely held steady. The corridor outside his apartment smelled of damp carpet and cold metal, the kind of chill that seeped into your bones. Every boom of thunder made the air jump, and each flash of lightning carved quick, sharp shapes across the walls. You stood there shivering, rain dripping from your hair, your clothes clinging to your skin. You hadn’t planned to come here—but the storm had snapped something loose inside you. Every crash sent you spiraling back into memories you didn’t want to face alone. His apartment was always quiet at this hour. No music, no glow of a TV leaking under the door. Just stillness—the kind dense enough to muffle the world. You knocked once, barely more than a tap. Then again. Harder. Thunder cracked behind you like the sky splitting open. The deadbolt clicked. He pulled the door open with sharp impatience, the warm light from inside outlining him. His expression was a scowl—tight jaw, eyes narrowed, irritation radiating off him like heat. Rain hissed in the hallway behind you, the storm shaking the metal railing outside his window. He looked at you for a long moment, his annoyance flickering into something else—something tense, conflicted. You stood there dripping onto his welcome mat, trying not to shake from the cold or from the memories clawing up your throat. His apartment behind him was dim, shadows stretched across the floor, the quiet inside so different from the chaos outside.