ALEX TURNER IMAGINES

Thunder (Drabble)

The sky outside begins to change, the deep blues of late afternoon giving way to a strange, heavy grey. You notice it out of the corner of your eye, the way the light in the room slowly dims as clouds gather overhead. The air feels different, thick with the promise of something brewing. You glance towards the window, trying to ignore the unease that's creeping in. It's silly, really-you're not a child anymore. But there's something about the darkening sky that makes your chest tighten and you hate it.

You turn back to what you're doing, pretending not to notice the shadows stretching across the room. You keep your movements steady, your expression calm, determined not to let the growing tension show. But your fingers fidget with the edge of your sleeve, a telltale sign he's learned to watch out for.

Alex is sitting across from you, flipping through a book, but you can feel his eyes on you, even when you're not looking. He's always been good at reading you, even when you're trying to hide what you're feeling. Especially then.

"Looks like a storm's coming," he says casually, his tone light, but there's a softness to it, a knowing warmth that tells you he's already figured you out.

You shrug, trying to play it off. "Yeah, I suppose so. Could do with a bit of rain," you reply, your voice steady, almost indifferent. But you don't meet his eyes. Instead, you busy yourself with your phone, as if that could distract you from the shadows inching closer.

He doesn't push. He never does. Instead, he gets up and crosses the room, pretending to check something by the window. The way he moves, calm and deliberate, has a way of easing some of the tightness in your chest. You can sense him watching the sky, but you know it's not the weather he's concerned about.

After a moment, Alex comes back, sitting down beside you. Not too close, but close enough that his presence is reassuring, like a steadying hand on your back without actually touching you. "Probably won't last long," he says, his voice calm, like it's just an observation. But you hear the unspoken promise underneath it, the silent reassurance that he's here, that he knows.

You give a small nod, finally meeting his gaze. He smiles, just a little, his deep brown eyes are warm as ever, and it's enough to make you relax, even if just a tiny gesture. He's not fooled, but he won't make you admit it. Instead, he stays there beside you, talking about anything and nothing, keeping you anchored as the world outside grows darker.

The storm hits hard, catching you off guard. The rain lashes against the windows, and the wind howls like a wild creature outside. Lightning flashes, illuminating the room for a split second before darkness hits again. You've never liked storms, especially not ones like this. The power flickers, then goes out completely, plunging the house into shadow.

You tense up, your breath quickening as the next clap of thunder shakes the walls. It's as if the storm is trying to make its way inside. You curl up on the sofa, hugging your knees to your chest, trying to steady your racing heart.

Then, you feel him beside you. His presence is warm, solid, a comforting contrast to the chaos outside. His scent surrounds you and he slides an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. You can feel the steady rise and fall of his chest, his heartbeat reassuringly calm.

"It's just a storm," he says softly, but he knows that's not enough. He knows how the thunder makes you jump, how the dark makes you feel small and vulnerable. His fingers trace soothing circles on your arm, grounding you.

Another crack of thunder rumbles through the house, but before you can flinch, he tightens his hold, leaning in close. "I'll be here to protect you," he whispers, his voice a gentle promise in the dark.

And just like that, the storm doesn't seem quite so frightening. You lean into him, letting his warmth chase away the chill. The rain may be relentless, the wind fierce, but with him by your side, you feel safe.