It started with thunder.
Not the quiet kind you only hear in the distance. This one cracked across the sky like a whip, sharp and sudden, the kind that shakes windows and makes the earth tremble under your boots.
I was lying on the couch, still dressed in my riding pants and hoodie, wet towel forgotten on the floor beside me.
My shoulder still ached from the fall, but i welcomed the pain.
It was real.
Tangible.
Something i could hold on to.
Unlike everything else.
Rain came next.
Violent.
Relentless.
The city below vanished in a haze of water as if the world was trying to wash itself clean.
My lights flickered.
Then died.
Silence swallowed the condo in an instant—except for the sound of thunder and my own heartbeat.
I sat up. Blinked. Waited for the emergency light to kick in. It didn’t.
Darkness.
Complete, unforgiving darkness.
And that’s when i felt it.
The grip.
That invisible hand curling around my throat. That ghost of memory i didn’t want.
Couldn’t name. Couldn’t outrun.
My breath shortened.
Chest tightening.
Skin crawling.
Not again.
I tried to stand but my knees buckled.
Not again.
I reached for my phone, but even the screen seemed darker than usual.
I couldn't see anything.
I couldn't breathe.
My fingers started to tremble.
I couldn’t explain why.
I just knew that every second in the dark pulled something loose inside me. Something buried.
Something rotten.
I stood.
Wobbled.
Reached for the door and swung it open without thinking.
Hallway lights were dead too.
It was instinct—pure, primal instinct—that made me walk the short distance to the unit across mine.
Calix.
I knocked once. Hard.
No answer.
I knocked again. Louder this time, my voice shaky. “Calix!”
A pause.
A click.
Then the door opened.
A sliver of warm, battery-powered light from a lamp spilled into the hallway. He was shirtless, wearing only sweatpants, his hair messy from sleep or frustration—probably both.
“Aurora?”
I didn’t say anything.
I just stood there.
Wet. Shivering. Silent.
He stepped aside. “Come in.”
And i did.
The moment the door closed behind me, the storm outside felt louder. More personal.
He handed me a towel.
I took it with a shaking hand but didn’t move to dry off.
He tilted his head. “Are you... okay?”
“Don’t ask stupid questions.”
His gaze dropped to my trembling fingers.
He didn’t say anything, just walked to the kitchen area and started lighting small battery-operated lamps, placing them strategically to bring as much warmth to the room as possible.
“I have hot chocolate,” he said. “Powdered. Ghetto. But it works.”
“I’m not five.”
“You’re freezing.”
“I’m fine.”
“Sure,” he said calmly, not even arguing. “Sit.”
I did. Mostly because my legs were no longer cooperating.
He handed me a mug.
It was hot. Sweet. Too sweet.
I didn’t care.
He sat across from me.
The power was still out.
The storm was still howling.
My heartbeat wouldn’t slow down.
“You don’t like the dark,” he said after a while.
It wasn’t a question.
I didn’t answer.
He looked at me, long and steady.
“I can stay in the room with you,” he offered. “Or not. Whatever you need.”
I hated how gentle his voice was.
I hated that it didn’t feel like pity—just understanding.
“I’m not scared,” I said, even though my fingers were still white from gripping the mug.
He didn’t reply.
Because he knew i was lying.
I lay in the guest bed in his unit.
The sheets smelled like cedar and something uniquely Calix—clean, earthy, slightly warm.
The storm outside got worse.
The kind that reminded you how small you were.
How fragile.
How easily the world could end if it wanted to.
The lamp beside me flickered and dimmed. Battery dying.
No. No no no.
I sat up.
The darkness creeped in faster this time.
My breath hitched.
My chest tightened.
No light. No sound. No time to think.
Something cold swept over my spine.
I threw the sheets away and rushed out of the room barefoot.
“Calix!”
My voice cracked.
I heard a door open. His steps fast. Then he was in front of me, hands on my arms.
“What’s wrong? Aurora—”
“Don’t leave.”
He froze.
“I can’t—I can’t see. I can’t—” My breath hitched again. “I don’t want to be alone.”
He didn’t ask anything else.
He just pulled me closer, wrapped an arm around me and led me back into his room.
No judgment.
No questions.
Just... silence.
And presence.
The safest kind.
We lay on the bed.
Both fully clothed.
No touches that weren’t necessary.
No words that would break this fragile moment.
My head rested near his shoulder.
I could hear his heartbeat.
Strong. Steady.
Alive.
Mine was chaotic. Uneven.
He reached up and brushed a strand of hair away from my face.
I flinched.
He stopped.
Waited.
“Do you want me to talk?” he asked softly.
“No.”
He nodded.
Silence again.
Until—
“I’m not scared of storms,” I whispered.
He didn’t reply.
“I’m scared of what i remember in the dark.”
Still, he said nothing.
Because he knew better.
Because he understood that some truths are not meant to be held. Not yet.
Only acknowledged.
“I’ll be here,” he said after a while.
I believed him.
More than i wanted to.
When i woke up, it was still raining, but the storm had passed.
The power was back.
I was alone in the bed.
But there was a tray on the side table—coffee, toast, and a note.
Thought you’d sleep in. Training later? Or world domination first? — C.
I stared at it for a while, unsure whether to smile or scream.
But neither came.
Because the truth was louder than either emotion.
I didn’t feel fear anymore.
And that terrified me more than the storm.