Sky Valen
It was past midnight when I heard the tap.
Not loud. Just… gentle. Like a heartbeat on glass.
At first, I thought I imagined it.
I was lying in bed, lights off, dressed in a long white tee that smelled like old memories and sleepless nights. The room was dark and silent, except for the faint ticking of the clock and the rustle of wind outside. My phone lay face down on the nightstand. No messages. No calls.
He hadn't texted all day.
Another tap.
I sat up.
Slowly, I pulled the curtains back—and there he was.
Ray.
Perched on the edge of the window frame like a sinner at heaven's door. His hoodie soaked. Hair dripping. Eyes dark and unreadable. But it was his expression that stopped my breath.
He looked like he'd been through hell. And back. And didn't care, as long as I was here at the end of it.
I unlatched the window and pushed it open. The rain came in with him. So did the scent of earth, smoke, and something broken.
"You're gonna get shot," I whispered.
He didn't smile.
He didn't say anything.
He just stepped inside, careful not to make a sound, and stood in the middle of my room like he didn't know what to do with himself.
I closed the window and turned.
That's when he reached for me.
No words. Just arms.
He pulled me into him like I was the only lifeline he had left in the world. His head dipped to my shoulder. My fingers slid into his wet hair. He was cold. Rain still clinging to his hoodie. But his breath was hot against my neck.
"I needed to hear your voice," he whispered finally, voice cracked. "I needed to see your face."
I held him tighter. "Ray… what happened?"
"My dad," he muttered. "He knows. Everything. And now… now I don't care who else does."
I pulled back slightly, my eyes finding his.
"I care," I whispered. "Because if mine finds out… if he—"
"I'll deal with him. With both of them. Just… tell me you're mine."
I didn't hesitate. "I've always been."
His hands cupped my face. Cold thumbs brushing warm cheeks.
He kissed me like he was afraid I might vanish. Like I was the one thing keeping him from falling apart. His lips were soaked, tasting of rain and desperation. My fingers curled around his wrist, grounding him. Grounding me.
We stood there for a long time. Two kids in a war too big for them. But tonight? Just us. Just this.
When I finally pulled back to breathe, I whispered, "Take off your hoodie. You're freezing."
He nodded, shoulders slumping like I'd just unburdened something heavy.
I handed him a towel. He stripped out of the soaked hoodie and t-shirt, muscles tense. Bruises on his knuckles. Like he'd punched a wall—or worse.
I didn't ask.
He slipped under the blanket beside me, and I turned off the light. I faced him in the dark.
His hand found my waist. My forehead met his.
Neither of us spoke.
He fell asleep before I did.
But just before I did, I whispered into the silence, "I heard you before you knocked."
And I swear I felt his smile against my skin.