The rain started just after midnight.
It tapped gently at the windows of their small cabin, tucked deep in the woods where cell service faded and time slowed. The air inside was warm, filled with the scent of cedarwood and the lingering spices from the curry Cass had made hours earlier.
They didn’t bother with many lights—just a few candles on the windowsill, flickering gold and soft. Aria stood near the fireplace in one of Jules’s oversized shirts, her hair damp from a quick rinse. Jules lay on the couch, one arm stretched behind his head, watching her with the quiet reverence of someone who’d already memorized every curve but still found new wonder in the way she moved.
Cass sat on the floor between them, barefoot, her legs pulled close. She held a mug of tea in her hands, steam rising into her face as she looked from one lover to the other.
“We’re lucky,” she said softly, like the thought had just settled on her shoulders.
Aria came to her first, kneeling behind her and wrapping her arms around her waist, her lips brushing the back of her neck. Jules joined, folding onto the rug in front of them, his hands finding Cass’s knees, slowly parting them, not demanding—inviting.
Their movements were slow. Unrushed. The kind of intimacy that didn’t burn fast but smoldered low, quiet, and deep. Jules kissed his way up Cass’s thigh as Aria traced circles along her ribs, letting her lips find Cass’s ear, whispering nothing and everything.
When Aria leaned forward to kiss Jules over Cass’s shoulder, it felt like a circuit closed. Heat passed between them—not just skin to skin, but something more elemental.
Later, they lay tangled under a shared blanket on the floor, the rain still falling, candles flickering lower. Cass rested her head on Aria’s chest, one hand on Jules’s heart.
No one spoke. They didn’t need to.
The silence between them wasn’t empty. It was full—of trust, of memory, of bodies that knew how to hold each other even when the words had all run out.