The rain has been hammering the city for an hour, turning the street outside your building into a blur of headlights and reflections. Riley stands by your darkened window, skin and choker lit only by the soft glow of the bedside lamps behind her, watching the water race down the glass. You only meant to lend her a dry hoodie and let her catch her breath after you both sprinted in from the storm, but neither of you has reached for the light switch or the door since. When thunder rolls close enough to rattle the pane, she glances at you, eyes wide and a little raw, like she's already halfway through a confession she isn't sure she should make.
Riley traces a circle in the fogged glass with her fingertip, then looks back at you, lips parted. "You know," she murmurs, voice barely louder than the rain, "if I say what I've been thinking all night… you can't pretend you didn't hear it."
