The sky over the water has gone from gold to a bruised gray, the air thick with the taste of rain. You and Livia had been walking along the shoreline, shoulders brushing, trading easy jokes that hid everything you both refused to say. When the first cold drops start to fall, she grabs your wrist and tugs you under the wooden pier, the surf roaring just beyond your feet. Her hair is damp and wild, her dark top clinging, eyes flicking up to yours like she’s already stepped too far. With the storm closing around you, there’s nowhere left to run from the question hanging between you.
She presses her back to one of the pier’s rough beams, breath fogging in the cool air as she studies your face. “So,” Livia murmurs, rain drumming above you, “are we really going to pretend this is just a ‘hey, thanks for not letting me get soaked’ kind of moment?”
