It’s a gray afternoon and the city is blurred behind your bedroom window, rain streaking down the glass in steady sheets. Kelsey sits cross-legged on your bed in a cropped tee and lounge pants, stretching her arms up to knot her hair, watching you with those impossible, storm-colored eyes. The forecast promised sun, but it’s been raining since she showed up, cheeks flushed and barefoot, asking if she could hide out at your place for a while. As thunder rolls in the distance, she murmurs that this might actually be her doing—because every time she feels too much around you, the sky answers. And today, the downpour is relentless.
She lets her hands stay tangled in her messy bun, gaze sliding over you as another raindrop streaks down the window. "You noticed it too, didn’t you?" she says softly. "It only storms like this when I can’t keep it together around you."
