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paz404 · 1 month ago

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City of Candles

Hanni Pham x male reader [15K words]

Day One: Apocalypse

You're on your couch, controller in hand, when the first rumble of thunder rolls across the city like God clearing his throat. The weather app on your phone has been screaming warnings all week - some massive storm system churning up from the Gulf, promising to turn the weekend into an apocalyptic light show. You're actually looking forward to it. There's something cool about being safely inside while nature throws a tantrum outside your windows. It’s as if, inside your apartment, nothing from the outside world can really get in, can really reach far enough to unravel the quiet you’ve built here.

Your phone buzzes with a text from Danielle: "Hey! Emergency favor? My friend needs a place to crash this weekend because of the storm. Her Airbnb got canceled last minute. Can she stay at your place?"

You pause your game and actually consider it for a moment. Your roommate Jake moved out two weeks ago to live with his girlfriend, leaving the spare room empty except for a bed and some boxes you haven't bothered to move yet. The place feels too quiet without his constant stream of terrible jokes and questionable cooking experiments.

"Who is it?" you text back.

"Hanni! I've mentioned her before. She's traveling around before starting her career. Super sweet, you'll love her."

You do vaguely remember Danielle talking about some friend who was taking a gap year to see the world. Something about learning languages and having adventures that make your Netflix-and-takeout lifestyle seem embarrassingly mundane.

"Sure, why not. When's she coming?"

"OMG thank you! She'll be there around 6. You're the best!"

It's 3 PM now. You look around your apartment with the critical eye of someone who's about to have a stranger judging their living space. It's not terrible - you're not one of those guys who lives like a feral college student - but it's definitely bachelor-pad basic. Clean enough, but lacking any personality beyond your gaming setup and the collection of empty beer bottles you keep meaning to recycle.

You spend the next hour doing a speed clean that mostly involves shoving random items into closets and running a vacuum over the visible carpet. The spare room gets fresh sheets that smell like the lavender detergent your mom bought you in a misguided attempt to civilize your domestic life.

By 5:30, you're showered and wearing actual pants instead of the basketball shorts that constitute your weekend uniform. You've even put on a t-shirt without any stains, which feels like formal wear at this point.

The building's ancient intercom crackles to life at exactly 6:03 PM.

"Hi! It's Hanni, Danielle's friend?"

Her voice has this musical quality even through the shitty speaker system. You buzz her up and find yourself actually nervous, which is ridiculous. It's just some girl who needs a place to crash during a storm. No big deal.

You open the door before she can knock, and—

Fuck.

Okay, let's pause here for a moment, because you need to process what you're seeing. Danielle definitely undersold this situation when she said "super sweet." Standing in your hallway is quite possibly the most beautiful girl you've ever seen in person, and that includes the time you accidentally ended up at a fashion week after-party and felt like an anthropologist studying a different species.

Hanni Pham is petite - maybe 5'3" in the sneakers she's wearing - with long dark hair that somehow looks perfect despite the humidity that's been building all day. Her skin has this natural glow that girls probably spend hundreds of dollars trying to achieve with makeup. She's wearing high-waisted jeans and an oversized cardigan that manages to be both cozy and effortlessly stylish.

But it's her smile that really hits you. When she grins (and she's grinning right now as she looks up at you) her whole face transforms. It's one of those smiles that makes you want to say something funny just to see it again.

"You must be the famous roommate.”

"Famous might be overselling it," you reply, stepping aside to let her in. "I prefer 'locally notorious' or 'generally adequate.'"

She laughs - actually laughs, not just that polite chuckle people give when they're being nice - and the sound does something weird to your chest.

"I'm Hanni," she says, extending her hand like you're meeting at a business conference instead of your apartment doorway.

"I know," you say, shaking her hand and immediately noticing how soft her skin is. "Danielle's mentioned you. I'm—"

"The mysterious roommate who apparently has his life together enough to have a spare room on short notice," she interrupts with a teasing smile. "Danielle was very impressed by your domestic capabilities."

"Danielle has clearly never seen me try to fold a fitted sheet," you say, grabbing her suitcase. "But I can order takeout with the best of them, so we won't starve."

She follows you into the apartment, and you watch her take it all in. Your place suddenly feels inadequate under her gaze - not messy, but definitely lacking in sophistication. She doesn't seem to mind, though. If anything, she looks comfortable immediately, like she's one of those people who can adapt to any environment.

"This is really nice," she says, and she sounds genuine. "Much better than the hostel I was staying at last week in Austin. There was this guy who brought his guitar to the common room every night and knew exactly one and a half songs."

"Let me guess—'Wonderwall' and half of 'Sweet Caroline'?"

"Close. 'Wonderwall' and the first verse of 'Hey There Delilah.'" She drops onto your couch like she belongs there. "It was painful. I started taking long walks just to avoid the evening concert."

You find yourself grinning as you set her suitcase by the hallway. There's something immediately easy about talking to her, like you've known each other longer than thirty seconds.

"So Danielle says you're traveling around before starting your career," you say, settling into the armchair across from her. "What's the master plan?"

"Oh, there's no master plan," she says with a laugh. "That's kind of the point. I graduated in May and realized I had spent four years studying business management and had no idea what I actually wanted to do with my life. So instead of jumping straight into the corporate grind, I decided to see the world for a while."

"Business management?" You raise an eyebrow. "Let me guess: parental expectations?"

"Bingo." She tucks her legs under her on the couch. "Asian parents, you know? They had my life planned out from birth. Good grades, good college, good job, good marriage, good grandchildren. The whole timeline."

"And you said 'thanks but no thanks'?"

"More like 'thanks but maybe later.'" She runs her hand through her hair, and you try not to notice how the movement makes her cardigan slip slightly off one shoulder. "I'm not rebelling exactly. I just want to figure out who I am when I'm not following someone else's script."

There's something refreshing about her honesty. Most people your age are either pretending they have everything figured out or wallowing in quarter-life crisis melodrama. Hanni seems genuinely comfortable with not knowing what comes next.

"So where have you been so far?" you ask.

Her face lights up. "God, everywhere. I started in California—spent a month in San Francisco, then drove down the coast. Did the whole Southwest thing, then back up to Colorado for a while. I was in New Orleans for two weeks, which was incredible but also nearly killed my liver."

"And now you're here because...?"

"I'm flying to Germany next month to start learning the language properly. And then this storm happened..." She gestures vaguely toward the window, where the sky is getting increasingly ominous.

"Germany, huh? Then what?"

"Portugal, maybe Brazil after that. I'm trying to learn German and Portuguese simultaneously, which my brain is not appreciating." She laughs. "But I figure if I'm going to wander around aimlessly, I might as well collect some languages while I do it."

You're impressed despite yourself. While you've been grinding through your marketing job and spending weekends recovering from the week, she's been living like a character in one of those indie movies about finding yourself.

"That's actually amazing," you say, and you mean it. "Most people just talk about doing something like that."

"Most people are smarter than me," she replies with that killer smile. "They understand things like 'financial security' and 'long-term planning.'"

"Overrated concepts," you say. "I've got both of those things and I still spend my Saturdays wondering if I'm wasting my life."

She tilts her head, studying you with those dark eyes. "Are you? Wasting your life?"

It's a more serious question than the conversation has been up to this point, and you find yourself actually thinking about it instead of deflecting with humor.

"I don't know," you admit. "I've got a decent job, this place, good friends. On paper it all looks fine. But sometimes I feel like I'm just going through the motions, you know? Like I'm waiting for my real life to start."

"And when do you think that happens?" she asks. "The real life part?"

"No idea. Maybe when I figure out what I actually want instead of just what I'm supposed to want."

She nods like this makes perfect sense. "That's exactly why I left. Everyone kept asking me what my five-year plan was, and I realized I couldn't even figure out what I wanted for lunch most days."

Another crack of thunder rolls overhead, closer this time. The light coming through your windows has taken on that weird greenish quality that means the storm is getting serious.

"Speaking of lunch," you say, standing up, "or dinner at this point—are you hungry? I was planning to order something before the weather gets too crazy for delivery."

"Starving," she admits. "I haven't eaten since this morning. What are the options?"

You grab your phone and start scrolling through delivery apps. "Thai, Chinese, pizza, Mexican, Indian... There's this Vietnamese place that's actually incredible if you're feeling adventurous."

"Vietnamese sounds perfect," she says immediately. "I haven't had good pho in weeks."

"You know pho?" You look up from your phone, surprised.

"I'm half Vietnamese," she says with an amused smile. "Did Danielle not mention that? Pham's my dad's name."

"She definitely left out some key details," you mutter while pulling up the Vietnamese restaurant's menu, feeling slightly embarrassed. Of course Hanni Pham is Vietnamese. You're usually more observant than this, but something about her presence is scrambling your normal social awareness.

"It's okay," she says, clearly picking up on your embarrassment. "I get it all the time.” She leans forward to look at your phone screen. "Oh my god, they have bun bo hue. Order that for me, please. I've been craving it for months."

"You got it." You add it to the cart, then look up at her. "Well, the dual nationality thing must be cool, I guess.”

"Sometimes. I got really good at code-switching depending on which side of the family I was with." She grins.

"And? Which one is actually you?"

She's quiet for a moment, considering. "Both, I think. Neither. Someone new." She looks at you directly. "That's part of why I'm doing this whole travel thing. Trying to figure out who I am when I'm not performing for anyone."

There's something vulnerable in the admission, and you feel a unexpected urge to tell her that whoever she is right now, sitting on your couch talking about identity and soup preferences, she's pretty fucking great.

Instead, you finish placing the food order and set your phone aside. "Well, for what it's worth, the version of you that's here right now seems pretty authentic to me."

She gives you a look that's hard to read - surprised, maybe? Like she wasn't expecting you to say something that direct.

"Thanks," she says softly. "That's... actually really nice to hear."

The moment hangs between you for a few seconds before another rumble of thunder breaks it. This one's close enough to rattle the windows.

"Jesus," you mutter, walking over to look outside. The sky has gone full apocalypse mode - dark green-black clouds rolling in like something out of a disaster movie. "This is going to be intense."

Hanni joins you at the window, standing close enough that you can smell her perfume - light and citrusy that makes you want to lean closer.

"I've never been in a real storm like this," she admits.

"You're in for a treat," you say. "We'll probably lose power at some point."

"Seriously?"

"Oh yeah. When storms like this hit, the grid just gives up." You glance at her. "You're not scared of storms, are you?"

"No, just... inexperienced." She looks up at you with a grin. "You'll have to teach me how to survive a proper thunderstorm."

There's something in the way she says it that makes your pulse quicken. Maybe it's the proximity, or the intimate lighting as the sky darkens, or just the general chemistry that's been building since she walked in. But suddenly the idea of being trapped in your apartment with Hanni Pham for three days doesn't seem like an inconvenience at all.

"First lesson," you say, forcing yourself to focus on the conversation instead of how close she's standing, "stock up on essentials before the power goes out."

"Which are?"

"Candles, flashlights, batteries, booze." You tick them off on your fingers. "I've got the first three covered, but we might need to make a liquor store run."

"What kind of booze?" she asks, clearly amused by your priorities.

"Wine for sophisticated storm watching, whiskey for if things get really bad, beer for everything else."

"You've really thought this through."

"I've lived here for three years. You learn to prepare for these things."

She's still standing close, looking up at you with those dark eyes, and you're starting to realize that the storm outside might not be the only dangerous weather system you need to worry about this weekend.

Your phone buzzes with a delivery notification, breaking the moment.

"Food's here," you announce, probably more loudly than necessary.

"Perfect timing," she says, but she doesn't immediately move away from the window. "Before we eat, should we make that liquor store run? It's only going to get worse out there."

You check the time on your phone. 7:15 PM. "Good call. There's a place around the corner that stays open late."

"Let me grab my jacket," she says, heading for her suitcase.

Five minutes later you're both hurrying down the sidewalk as the wind picks up. Leaves and debris are starting to swirl around, and the air has that electric feeling that comes right before a big storm hits.

———

The liquor store is busy (apparently you're not the only ones with the idea to stock up before the weather gets nasty). Hanni gravitates toward the wine section while you grab a bottle of decent whiskey and a twelve-pack of beer.

"What do you think?" she asks, holding up a bottle of red wine. "I don't know much about wine, but this one has a pretty label."

You look at the bottle - some mid-range Cabernet that's probably perfectly fine. "Pretty label is a valid selection criterion," you say. "But if we're going to be storm-bound for three days, we might want something a little more special."

You lead her over to a section with slightly better wines and pick up a bottle of Spanish Tempranillo. "This one's got character. Good for drinking while watching the world end outside your window."

"You really know wine?" she asks, looking impressed.

"I know just enough to sound like I do," you admit. "My ex was into wine, so I picked up some basics through osmosis."

"Ah, the ex." Her tone is light, but you catch something in her expression. "Recent?"

"Few months ago. Nothing dramatic, just... ran out of steam." You realize you probably shouldn't be talking about your ex-girlfriend to the beautiful girl you just met, but Hanni seems genuinely curious rather than uncomfortable.

"That's the worst kind of breakup," she says sympathetically. "When there's no big fight or betrayal, just the slow realization that you're not right for each other."

"Exactly." You're surprised by how well she gets it. "How about you? Leaving a trail of broken hearts across America?"

She laughs. "Hardly. I was dating someone senior year, but that ended when I decided to do this whole travel thing. He wasn't exactly supportive of the idea."

"His loss," you say, and immediately regret how that sounds. Too forward, too obvious.

But Hanni just smiles. "Thanks. I think so too."

You grab the wine and head to the checkout, where the cashier is grumbling about having to stay open during the storm.

"Y'all better get home quick," he says as he rings you up. "Weather service just issued a severe thunderstorm warning. Gonna be nasty out there."

As if to emphasize his point, a flash of lightning illuminates the store windows, followed immediately by a boom of thunder that makes everyone jump.

"Shit," you mutter, grabbing the bag. "We need to move."

The walk back to your apartment is like something out of a movie. The wind is whipping hard enough to make walking difficult, and the first fat raindrops are starting to fall. By the time you reach your building, you're both laughing breathlessly at the absurdity of racing a storm.

"That was exhilarating," Hanni says as you climb the stairs to your floor, her cheeks flushed from the wind and exercise.

"That was just the warm-up," you tell her, unlocking your door. "The real show hasn't started yet."

Inside, your apartment feels like a sanctuary. The food delivery is waiting outside your door (the delivery guy apparently decided not to stick around for a tip in this weather) and you bring everything inside just as the rain really starts coming down.

"Perfect timing," Hanni says, already unpacking the Vietnamese food on your coffee table.

You open the bottle of wine while she sets up the food, and within minutes you're both settled on the couch with steaming bowls of soup and glasses of the Tempranillo.

"Oh my god," Hanni moans after her first spoonful of bun bo hue. "This is exactly what I needed. I don't know how they get the broth so perfect."

"Good choice?" you ask, settling back with your own bowl.

"Amazing choice. You clearly know your Vietnamese food."

"I know good food in general," you say. "It's one of my few useful skills."

Outside, the storm is really starting to intensify. Rain is hammering against the windows, and the lightning is getting more frequent. The thunder is almost constant now, a low rumble punctuated by sharp cracks that make the building shake slightly.

"Jesus," Hanni says, looking toward the windows. "Is it supposed to sound like that?"

"That's normal for a storm this size," you tell her, but privately you're a little impressed by how intense it's getting. "We're safe in here. These old buildings are built to last."

She doesn't look entirely convinced, but she's trying to play it cool. You notice her flinch slightly at a particularly loud thunder clap.

"First real storm nerves?" you ask gently.

"Maybe a little," she admits. "I know it's silly, but I keep expecting something to fall on the building."

"Not silly at all. The first time I experienced a storm like this, I spent the whole night awake thinking the roof was going to cave in."

"Really?"

"Really. I was convinced every lightning flash was going to fry the building's electrical system and trap me in a powerless hellscape."

"And did it?"

"Well, the power did go out around midnight, but the hellscape part was mostly in my imagination."

She laughs, relaxing slightly. "Okay, so what actually happens when the power goes out?"

"Candles, flashlights, and a lot of sitting around in the dark talking. It's actually kind of nice once you get used to it. Very... primitive."

"Primitive how?"

You consider how to explain it. "Like, suddenly all the modern distractions disappear. No TV, no internet, no phone charging. You're just stuck with whoever you're with and whatever conversation you can make."

"That doesn't sound so bad," she says, taking a sip of wine. "Especially with good company."

There's something in the way she says it that makes you look at her more carefully. She's got this slight smile playing around her lips, and she's holding your gaze in a way that feels deliberate.

Okay, you think. So that's definitely flirting.

"The company seems pretty good so far," you agree, matching her tone.

"Just pretty good?" She raises an eyebrow. "I'll have to work on that."

Before you can respond, there's a brilliant flash of lightning followed immediately by a crack of thunder so loud it feels like it's inside the apartment. Both of you jump, and then you're laughing at your own reactions.

"Okay, that one was close," you admit.

"How close is close?" Hanni asks, moving slightly closer to you on the couch.

"Close enough that we're probably going to lose power soon," you say, acutely aware of the warmth of her leg against yours.

As if summoned by your words, the lights flicker.

"Shit," you mutter.

They flicker again, holding for a moment, then go out completely.

The apartment plunges into darkness so complete you can't see your hand in front of your face. The only illumination comes from the occasional lightning flashes outside.

"Well," Hanni's voice comes from beside you, sounding remarkably calm, "I guess this is where the primitive part starts."

You fumble for your phone's flashlight and use it to navigate to the kitchen, where you keep the emergency candles. Within a few minutes, you've got several candles lit around the living room, casting everything in warm, flickering light.

"Better?" you ask, settling back onto the couch.

"Much," she says. "This is actually kind of romantic."

She says it casually, but there's something underneath the words that makes your pulse quicken.

"Romantic disaster preparedness," you say. "I should put that on my dating profile."

"You'd get a lot of matches during storm season."

"Is that your type? Guys who are prepared for natural disasters?"

She pretends to consider this seriously. "I don't know. I'm still figuring out what my type is."

“You've really never figured out your type?"

"I mean, I thought I had. But then I realized all my previous relationships were based on what I thought I was supposed to want, not what I actually wanted."

"What did you think you were supposed to want?"

"You know, the whole package. Ambitious guy, stable career, five-year plan, ready to settle down and start checking off life milestones." She takes a sip of wine. "Turns out that bores me to tears."

"And what do you actually want?"

She's quiet for a moment, looking at you in the candlelight. "I'm still figuring that out. But I think I want someone who doesn't have it all figured out either. Someone who's okay with not knowing what comes next."

There's something charged in the way she's looking at you, like she's not just talking in hypotheticals anymore.

"That sounds terrifying and appealing in equal measure," you say.

"The best things usually are."

The storm outside is reaching its peak now. The rain is coming down so hard it sounds like static, and the lightning is almost continuous. But inside your apartment, with the candles flickering and the wine starting to warm your blood, it feels incredibly intimate.

"Can I ask you something?" Hanni says, shifting to face you more directly on the couch.

"Shoot."

"When Danielle asked if I could stay here, did she mention anything about... me? Specifically?"

"Just that you were sweet and I'd like you," you say. "Why?"

"Nothing, just..." She trails off, looking suddenly unsure of herself.

"Just what?"

"I think she might have been matchmaking," she admits with a slightly embarrassed laugh. "She's been trying to set me up with people for months, saying I need to stop being so picky and give nice guys a chance."

"And you think I'm the latest nice guy she's throwing at you?"

"Are you? A nice guy?"

You consider the question. "I try to be. Though I'm starting to think 'nice' might not be what you're looking for."

"What makes you say that?"

"Just a feeling," you say, holding her gaze. "You don't strike me as someone who wants safe and predictable."

"You're right," she says quietly. "I don't."

The admission hangs between you in the candlelit air. You're both aware that the conversation has shifted into more dangerous territory, but neither of you seems inclined to back away from it.

"So what do you want?" you ask.

She's quiet for a long moment, looking down at her wine glass. When she looks back up, there's something different in her expression: more open, more vulnerable.

"I want to feel something," she says simply. "I've spent so much time doing what I was supposed to do, being who I was supposed to be. I want to know what it feels like to just... follow my instincts for once."

"And what are your instincts telling you right now?"

She sets her wine glass down on the coffee table and turns to face you fully. "That this is probably a terrible idea, but I don't care."

"What's a terrible idea?"

Instead of answering, she reaches out and traces her finger along your jawline. Her touch is soft but deliberate.

"This," she whispers.

You catch her hand in yours, holding it against your cheek. "Hanni..."

"I know," she says. "We just met. This is crazy. I'm leaving in three days. There are probably a dozen reasons why we shouldn't."

"Probably more than a dozen."

"So why does it feel like the most natural thing in the world?"

You don't have an answer for that, because she's right. Despite having known her for less than three hours, this feels inevitable somehow. Like you've been moving toward this moment since she first smiled at you in the hallway.

"Maybe," you say carefully, "we don't overthink it. Maybe we just see what happens."

"What happens if what happens is that I fall for you and then have to leave?"

"What happens if we spend the next three days being careful and polite and miss out on something amazing?"

She considers this, her thumb stroking across your cheek where she's still touching you.

"You make a good point," she says.

"I have my moments."

"So what are you suggesting? That we just... go with it?"

"I'm suggesting that we're two adults who are clearly attracted to each other, trapped in an apartment during the storm of the century, with excellent wine and nowhere else to be." You turn your head slightly to press a kiss to her palm. "I'm suggesting that three days can be a lifetime if you let them be."

Her breath catches at the kiss, and you feel something shift in the air between you.

"Three days," she repeats.

"Three days."

"And then I leave."

"And then you leave."

"And we don't make any promises or plans or expectations."

"None."

She's quiet for another moment, studying your face in the candlelight. Then she smiles - that incredible smile that made you forget how to think when you first saw it.

"Okay," she says. "Three days."

And then she's kissing you.

It starts soft, tentative, like she's testing the waters. But when you respond, pulling her closer and deepening the kiss, she melts into you with a little sigh that makes your heart race.

She tastes like wine and something uniquely her, and when she runs her tongue along your lower lip, you actually groan against her mouth.

"Fuck," you breathe when you finally break apart.

"Good fuck or bad fuck?" she asks, her forehead resting against yours.

"Very, very good fuck."

She grins and kisses you again, harder this time, her hands tangling in your hair. You pull her closer until she's practically in your lap, and the feel of her body against yours is intoxicating.

Outside, the storm rages on, but you're barely aware of it anymore. All your attention is focused on the girl in your arms, the way she kisses like she's hungry for it, the little sounds she makes when you trace your lips along her neck.

"This is crazy," she murmurs against your ear, but her hands are already working at the buttons of your shirt.

"Completely insane," you agree, sliding your hands under her cardigan to find the soft skin of her waist.

"We should probably slow down," she says, even as she's pushing your shirt off your shoulders.

"Absolutely," you say, lifting her cardigan over her head. "Very sensible."

She's wearing a simple black bra underneath, and the sight of her in the candlelight makes your mouth go dry. She's even more beautiful than you imagined, all soft curves and smooth skin.

"Fuck, Hanni," you breathe, running your hands over her shoulders, her collarbones, the tops of her breasts.

She arches into your touch, her head falling back as you trail kisses down her throat. "This is definitely not slowing down," she gasps.

"Do you want to stop?" you ask, pulling back to look at her.

Her eyes are dark with desire, her lips swollen from kissing. "God, no," she whispers. "I want... I want you to touch me everywhere."

The raw honesty in her voice undoes something in your chest. You cup her face in your hands and kiss her deeply, pouring all your want and wonder into it.

When you break apart, you're both breathing hard.

"Bedroom?" you suggest.

"Bedroom," she agrees.

You blow out most of the candles, leaving just one to light your way, and lead her down the hallway to your room. In the doorway, she stops and looks around.

"This is very you," she says with a smile.

"Is that good or bad?"

"It's perfect," she says, and then she's kissing you again, walking you backward toward the bed.

You sit on the edge and pull her between your legs, your hands settling on her hips. She runs her fingers through your hair, scratching lightly at your scalp in a way that makes you shiver.

"I can't believe this is happening," she says softly.

"Having second thoughts?"

"No. It's just... I don't usually do this. Sleep with someone I just met."

"We don't have to—"

"I want to," she interrupts. "God, I really want to. It's just new for me."

"What's new? The one-night stand thing?"

"The following-my-instincts thing," she says. "I've never just... acted on attraction like this before."

You smooth your hands up her sides, feeling the warmth of her skin through the thin fabric of her bra. "How does it feel so far?"

"Terrifying," she admits. "And incredible."

"Good terrifying or bad terrifying?"

"The best kind of terrifying," she says, and then she's pushing you back on the bed and climbing on top of you.

The feeling of her straddling your hips, her hair falling around her face as she looks down at you, is almost overwhelming. You reach up to trace the line of her jaw, and she turns her head to kiss your palm just like you did to her earlier.

"You're so beautiful," you tell her, because it's true and because she needs to hear it.

She ducks her head, suddenly shy. "You don't have to say that."

"I'm not saying it because I have to," you say, sitting up so you're face to face with her. "I'm saying it because it's true. You're the most beautiful girl I've ever seen."

She looks at you like she's trying to decide whether to believe you. "Really?"

"Really."

"Even with my hair all messy from the storm?"

"Especially with your hair all messy from the storm."

She smiles and kisses you again, and this time there's something different in it; less desperate, more tender.

"I like you," she whispers against your lips. "I really, really like you."

"I like you too," you whisper back.

"Even though I'm leaving in three days?"

"Especially because you're leaving in three days."

She pulls back to look at you. "What do you mean?"

"It means we don't have time to overthink this or talk ourselves out of it," you say. "It means we can just be here, right now, with each other."

"No expectations."

"No promises."

"Just this."

She nods, and then she's kissing you again, and her hands are everywhere - your chest, your shoulders, your arms. You let your own hands explore her body, mapping the curve of her waist, the softness of her skin, the way she shivers when you trace patterns on her back.

Time seems to slow down and speed up simultaneously. One moment you're kissing slowly, savoring each other, and the next you're pulling at clothes with urgent need. But there's no rush, no pressure. Just two people discovering each other by candlelight while the storm provides the soundtrack.

When you finally reach for the clasp of her bra, she covers your hands with hers.

"Wait," she says softly.

Your heart sinks. "Are you sure? We can stop—"

"No, it's not that," she says quickly. "I just... can we talk for a minute first?"

"Of course." You settle back against the headboard, pulling her with you so she's curled against your side.

"This is going to sound weird," she says, tracing patterns on your chest with her finger. "But I've never done anything like this before. I've had sex, obviously, but never like this. Never just because I wanted to, without it meaning something specific."

"What did it usually mean?"

"That we were in a relationship. That it was leading somewhere. That it was part of a plan." She looks up at you. "This doesn't mean any of those things, and that's scary but also... liberating?"

"You don't have to justify it," you tell her. "We can do whatever feels right."

"What feels right is being here with you," she says. "But I'm nervous."

"About the sex?"

"About being vulnerable with someone I barely know. About letting myself feel something for someone I'm going to leave."

You stroke her hair, thinking about how to respond. "You know what I think?"

"What?"

"I think vulnerability is brave, not scary. And I think feeling something - even if it's temporary - is better than feeling nothing at all."

She's quiet for a moment. "You're very wise for someone I met three hours ago."

"If I had a nickel for every time I heard that..."

"And what about you? Are you nervous?"

You consider lying, playing it cool, but something about her honesty deserves the same in return.

"Terrified," you admit. "But not for the reasons you'd think."

"What reasons?"

"Because I like you. Like, really like you. And I'm scared that three days with you is going to ruin me for everyone else."

She lifts her head to look at you. "Would that be so bad?"

"Ask me in three days."

She smiles and settles back against your chest. "So what do we do with all this nervousness?"

"We take it slow," you say. "We don't do anything that doesn't feel completely right. And we remember that this is supposed to be fun."

"Fun," she repeats. "I like fun."

"Good, because I'm planning to show you the time of your life."

"Big talk," she says with a grin. "Can you back it up?"

"Give me three days and find out."

She laughs and tilts her head up to kiss you. "Okay," she says against your lips. "Show me."

The next hour unfolds like a dream. You take your time with each other, talking and laughing between kisses, learning what makes each other sigh and gasp. There's something magical about discovering someone new, about the way unfamiliar touches can make your body shiver.

When you finally do remove her bra, it's with reverent slowness, your eyes locked on hers as you reveal more of her beautiful body. She's perfect - small, firm breasts with dusky nipples that harden under your gaze.

"Fuck," you breathe, and she blushes prettily.

"Is that good?" she asks, suddenly self-conscious.

Instead of answering with words, you lean down and take one nipple into your mouth, swirling your tongue around it until she arches off the bed with a gasp.

"Oh god," she moans, her hands fisting in your hair. "That's... that's really good."

You spend long minutes worshipping her breasts, alternating between gentle licks and firmer suction, learning what makes her writhe beneath you. She's incredibly responsive, her back arching and her breath coming in short gasps as you discover all her sensitive spots.

"My turn," she pants, pushing at your shoulders until you're on your back.

She straddles your hips again, and the feeling of her bare breasts pressed against your chest as she kisses you is almost overwhelming. Her hands explore your body with growing confidence, tracing the lines of your muscles, finding the places that make you groan.

When she works her way down your chest with kisses and gentle bites, you think you might lose your mind. She's thorough and deliberate, paying attention to your reactions and filing away everything that makes you respond.

“Hanni," you gasp when she reaches the waistband of your jeans.

"Hmm?" she hums against your skin.

"You don't have to—"

"I want to," she says, looking up at you with dark eyes. "I want to taste you."

She won. "Fuck, yes. Please."

She smiles and makes quick work of your jeans and boxers, leaving you completely naked in the candlelight. For a moment she just looks at you, taking in your body with obvious appreciation.

"You're beautiful too," she says softly, running her hands up your thighs.

"Guys aren't beautiful," you protest.

"You are," she insists. "You're perfect."

And then she's touching you, wrapping her small hand around your length, and coherent thought becomes impossible. She starts slow, just exploring, learning the shape and feel of you. When she finally takes you into her mouth, you literally see stars.

"Jesus Christ," you groan, your hands fisting in the sheets.

She's clearly not super experienced, but what she lacks in technique she makes up for in enthusiasm. She's paying attention to your reactions, adjusting her rhythm and pressure based on your moans and gasps.

"Hanni, fuck, that's incredible," you manage to say.

She hums around you, the vibration making you jerk beneath her. When she pulls off your cock to catch her breath, her lips are swollen and slick.

"Good?" she asks with a satisfied smile.

"So fucking good," you tell her. "Come here."

You pull her up to kiss her, tasting yourself on her lips. The storm outside seems to have calmed slightly, but you barely notice. All your attention is focused on the girl in your arms.

"I want to touch you," you murmur against her neck.

"Please," she breathes.

You roll her onto her back and trail kisses down her body, taking time to appreciate every inch of soft skin. When you reach the waistband of her jeans, you look up at her for permission.

"Yes," she says without hesitation. "Please, yes."

You remove her jeans and panties slowly, savoring the reveal of her body. She's perfect everywhere – thick, smooth legs hiding the paradise you are about to discover.

"My turn to explore," you say, settling between her legs.

The first touch of your tongue makes her cry out and arch off the bed. She's already wet, and she tastes incredible; so sweet and musky and uniquely her.

"Oh god, oh fuck," she gasps as you find a rhythm that makes her thighs shake. "That's so good, don't stop, please don't stop."

You have no intention of stopping. You lose yourself in the task of learning her body, finding the spots that make her writhe and the pressure that makes her moan. She's incredibly responsive, her hips rolling against your mouth as she gets closer to the edge.

"I'm gonna come," she warns. "Fuck, I'm gonna come so hard."

You double your efforts, and within seconds she's falling apart beneath you, her back arching as waves of pleasure crash over her. You work her through it, gentling your touch as she comes down from the high.

When you finally lift your head, she's looking at you with wonder.

"Holy shit," she breathes. "That was... I've never... holy shit."

"Good?" you ask, pressing kisses to her inner thighs.

"Incredible. Amazing. Life-changing." She pulls you up to kiss her deeply. "I need you inside me. Right now."

"Condom," she manages to say.

"Nightstand," you say, reaching over you to fumble in the drawer.

The practicalities of protection handled, you position yourself at her entrance and look into her eyes.

"You sure?" you ask one more time.

"I've never been more sure of anything," she says, pulling you down for a kiss.

You enter her cunt slowly, both of you gasping at the sensation. She's incredibly tight and warm, and it takes all your self-control not to lose it immediately.

"Fuck," you groan against her neck. "You feel amazing."

"So do you," she pants, her nails digging into your shoulders. "Move, please move."

You start slowly, finding a rhythm that has both of you moaning. There's something perfect about the way your bodies fit together, like you were made for this.

"Harder," she gasps after a few minutes. "I need more."

You pick up the pace, driving into her with more force. The sound of skin against skin mingles with your gasps and moans, creating a symphony of pleasure that drowns out the storm outside.

"Yes, fuck, yes," she cries, her legs wrapping around your waist to pull you deeper. "Just like that, don't stop."

You can feel her getting close again, her inner walls starting to flutter around you and you're not far behind: the combination of her tight heat and the sounds she's making is pushing you rapidly toward the edge.

"Come with me," you gasp, reaching between your bodies to find her clit.

The added stimulation is all she needs. She cries out your name as she comes, her body clamping down around you in rhythmic pulses that trigger your own release.

You collapse on top of her, both of you breathing hard and trembling from the intensity. For a long moment, you just lie there wrapped in each other's arms, coming back to earth.

"Wow," Hanni finally whispers.

"Yeah," you agree, pressing a kiss to her shoulder. "Wow."

You clean up quickly and settle back into bed, pulling her against your side. The candle has burned low, casting dancing shadows on the walls.

"The storm's getting quieter," she observes, her head on your chest.

"Mmm," you hum, too content to care much about the weather.

"So this is what it's like," she says softly.

"What what's like?"

"Following your instincts. Doing something just because it feels right." She tilts her head to look at you. "I can see why people get addicted to it."

"Addicted to what? Good sex?"

"Addicted to feeling alive," she corrects. "I haven't felt this... present... in years."

You stroke her hair, understanding exactly what she means. "It's the storm," you say. "It strips away all the normal distractions and forces you to just be where you are."

"Is that what this is? Storm madness?"

"Maybe. Does it matter?"

She considers this. "No," she says finally. "I don't think it does."

You're both quiet for a while, listening to the rain that's finally starting to ease up outside. The thunder is more distant now, rolling away toward the east.

"Can I ask you something?" Hanni says eventually.

"Anything."

"What are you thinking right now? Really thinking, not just the polite answer."

You're quiet for a moment, trying to articulate the complex mix of emotions churning in your chest.

"I'm thinking that this is the best first day of anything I've ever had," you say finally. "And I'm thinking that two more days isn't nearly enough."

"And?"

"And I'm trying not to think about what happens after that."

She nods against your chest. "I'm thinking the same thing."

"What else are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking that I could get used to this very quickly," she admits. "Being with someone who makes me feel like this."

"Like what?"

"Like myself. Like the person I am when nobody else is watching."

You tip her chin up so you can see her face in the dim candlelight. "That person is pretty incredible."

"You think so?"

"I know so."

She smiles and settles back against you. "Two more days," she murmurs, half to herself.

"Two more days," you agree.

But as you lie there holding her, listening to her breathing even out as she drifts toward sleep, you're already dreading the moment when you'll have to let her go.

Day Two: Dreaming

You wake up to silence.

Not just quiet; actual silence. No hum of the air conditioning, no soft whir of the refrigerator, no digital clocks glowing in the darkness. Just the gentle sound of rain still pattering against the windows and the warm weight of Hanni curled against your side.

The power is definitely out.

You check your phone: 7:23 AM, and the battery is at sixty percent. Outside, the world looks washed clean. The storm has passed, leaving behind a gray morning and the kind of pristine air that only comes after nature has thrown a proper tantrum.

Hanni stirs beside you, making a soft sound of contentment as she presses closer to your warmth. She's wearing one of your shirts. Now you can't help but think that you'd like to see her wearing every single one of your shirts throughout the nights.

"Morning," you murmur into her hair.

"Mmm," she hums without opening her eyes. "What time is it?"

"About seven-thirty."

"Too early," she decides, nuzzling into your neck. "Let's stay in bed forever."

"I like that plan," you say, tightening your arms around her. "Unfortunately, without power, it's going to get pretty cold in here eventually."

That gets her attention. She lifts her head, blinking in the dim light. "Still no electricity?"

"Nope. Welcome to day two of our primitive survival experience."

She stretches like a cat, and you can't help but admire the way the movement makes her back arch. Even first thing in the morning, with her hair messy and her makeup long gone, she's breathtakingly beautiful.

"How do you feel?" you ask, suddenly worried that she might regret last night in the clear light of morning.

She settles back against you with a smile that erases all your concerns. "Like I slept better than I have in months," she says. "How do you feel?"

"Like I don't want to get out of this bed."

"Then don't," she says simply, trailing her fingers across your chest. "What's the worst that could happen?"

"We could starve to death."

"Romantic starvation," she muses. "There are worse ways to go."

"Very romantic. We could become one of those tragic love stories people write songs about."

"The Storm Weekend Lovers," she suggests dramatically. "Found months later, still in each other's arms, beautiful corpses who chose love over sustenance."

"That's morbid as hell," you laugh.

"But romantic," she insists, grinning at you.

You kiss her forehead, marveling again at how easy everything feels with her. "Okay, before we commit to romantic death by starvation, let me see what the food situation actually looks like."

"Fine," she sighs dramatically. "Abandon me for practical concerns."

"I'll make it up to you with breakfast."

"What kind of breakfast can you make without power?"

"You'll see. Trust me."

You reluctantly extract yourself from the warm cocoon of blankets and Hanni's arms. The apartment is noticeably cooler without the heating system running, and you can see your breath slightly in the dim light.

"Jesus, it's cold," you mutter, pulling on boxers and a t-shirt.

"Come back," Hanni calls from the bed, having stolen all the blankets the moment you left. "I'm freezing without my personal heater."

"Give me ten minutes to survey our survival options," you tell her. "Then I'll come warm you up properly."

"Promise?"

"Cross my heart."

In the kitchen, you assess your options by phone flashlight. The gas stove still works (one advantage of having an older apartment with gas appliances). You've got eggs, bread, coffee that you can make in your French press, and some fruit that doesn't need refrigeration.

More importantly, you've got camping gear in the closet from a phase last year where you thought you might become an outdoorsy person. That means a battery-powered radio, a camp stove with fuel canisters, and some warm clothing.

You get the coffee started first (because priorities) then set up the camp stove on the balcony to supplement the gas range. The morning air is crisp and clean, washed fresh by the storm.

By the time you return to the bedroom with a tray of coffee, scrambled eggs, and toast, Hanni has managed to make herself even more beautiful despite (or maybe because of) being wrapped in blankets like a burrito.

"You actually made breakfast," she says, sounding impressed.

"I told you to trust me." You set the tray on the nightstand and climb back into bed. "Coffee, eggs, toast, and..." You produce a small container from your back pocket. "Strawberry jam from that fancy place downtown."

"You had fancy jam just lying around?"

"I bought it for my ex and never used it," you admit. "Seemed like a waste to throw it out."

"Well, her loss is my gain," Hanni says, unwrapping herself enough to reach for the coffee. "Oh my god, this smells amazing."

You settle back against the headboard and watch her take her first sip. The way she closes her eyes and makes a little sound of pleasure makes you think about last night, which makes you think about things you definitely shouldn't be thinking about while trying to eat breakfast.

"So what's the plan for today?" she asks, curling up next to you with her coffee.

"Depends how long the power stays out. If it comes back on in a few hours, we can pretty much do whatever we want. If not..." You shrug. "We get creative."

"I vote for not," she says immediately.

"You want the power to stay out?"

"I want an excuse to spend the whole day in bed with you," she says with that direct honesty that keeps catching you off guard.

"We don't need an excuse for that."

"Don't we?" She looks at you over her coffee cup. "I mean, what would we normally do on a Saturday? If we were dating, I mean, or if this was... normal somehow."

It's a good question. What would you normally do? Probably sleep in, maybe grab brunch somewhere, do some shopping or see a movie. The kind of casual weekend activities that couples do when they're still figuring each other out.

"Honestly?" you say. "I'd probably be overthinking everything. Wondering if you were having a good time, whether I should hold your hand, when would be the right time to kiss you."

"And instead?"

"Instead I already know you taste like strawberry jam and make the most incredible sounds when you come."

She nearly chokes on her coffee, laughing. "Jesus, you can't just say things like that."

"Why not?"

"Because it makes me want to do things that aren't compatible with eating breakfast."

"What kind of things?"

She sets down her coffee and moves closer, her hand sliding under your shirt to rest on your chest. "Things that involve significantly less clothing and significantly more of those sounds you mentioned."

Your pulse kicks up immediately. "We should probably finish eating first."

"Should we?" she asks, her fingers tracing patterns on your skin.

"Food is important for maintaining energy levels."

"I can think of other ways to work up an appetite," she murmurs, leaning in to press a kiss to your neck.

The combination of her lips on your skin and her hand moving lower makes it very difficult to remember why breakfast was important.

"Hanni," you start, but she silences you by biting gently at your earlobe.

"I've been thinking," she whispers against your ear, "about last night. About how you felt inside me."

All coherent thought evaporates. "Yeah?"

"Mmm. And I've been wondering what it would feel like to wake up with you inside me. To start the day connected like that."

"Fuck," you breathe, your body responding immediately to the image she's painting.

"Is that a yes?" she asks, pulling back to look at you with a smile that's equal parts innocent and wicked.

"That's a definitely yes," you manage to say.

She grins and starts pushing the breakfast tray toward the nightstand. "Then breakfast can wait."

What follows is slow and lazy and perfect. Morning sex with soft gray light filtering through the windows and no urgency except the desire to be close to each other. You take your time exploring her body again, relearning all the places that make her sigh and arch beneath you.

"I love how you touch me," she whispers as you trace patterns on her inner thigh. "Like you're memorizing me."

"I am memorizing you," you admit, pressing kisses along her hipbone. "Every inch."

When you finally slide your cock inside her, it's with a sense of rightness that goes beyond the physical. She wraps her legs around your waist and pulls you close, and for a moment you just stay like that, connected and still.

"This is what I wanted," she says softly, her hands framing your face. "To start the day with you."

You move together slowly, building pleasure with deliberate care rather than desperate need. It's intimate in a way that goes beyond just sex: it's tender and vulnerable and real.

When you both finally fall apart, it's with quiet gasps and whispered names rather than the loud cries of the night before. Afterward, you stay connected, neither of you wanting to break the spell.

"Now I'm hungry," Hanni announces eventually, making you laugh.

"Good thing I made breakfast."

"You're very practical for someone who just rocked my world."

"I'm a man of many talents."

She stretches beneath you, catlike and satisfied. "I'm beginning to notice that."

You finally separate and resettle with the breakfast tray between you. The coffee has gone lukewarm, but neither of you seems to care.

"So," Hanni says around a bite of toast, "what's the rest of our survival plan?"

"Well, assuming the power doesn't come back soon, we'll need to think about staying warm. The temperature's supposed to drop tonight."

"How much colder?"

"Forties, maybe high thirties."

"That's actually cold," she says, looking concerned. "I don't do well in cold weather."

"Don't worry," you tell her. "I've got camping gear, and worst case scenario, we can always share body heat."

"I like that plan."

"I thought you might."

You finish breakfast and decide to venture out to assess the neighborhood situation. Most of the power lines in the area are down, and you can see utility crews already working to restore service. The convenience store on the corner is closed, but the coffee shop two blocks away has a generator and is serving as an unofficial community center for people without power.

"This is kind of amazing," Hanni says as you walk through the neighborhood. "Look how everyone's just... helping each other."

She's right. Neighbors who probably barely speak normally are sharing generators and hot coffee. Someone has set up a grill in the parking lot behind the coffee shop and is cooking food for anyone who needs it.

"Crisis brings out the best in people sometimes," you say.

"Or the worst," she points out. "But this is definitely the best."

You grab some extra ice and batteries from the coffee shop, then head back to your apartment. By the time you return, it's almost noon and the temperature is starting to drop noticeably.

"Okay," you say, setting your supplies on the kitchen counter. "Time to implement phase two of the survival plan."

"Which is?"

"We build a fort."

"A fort?" She looks at you like you've lost your mind.

"A blanket fort," you clarify. "In the living room. We bring all the blankets and pillows from the bedroom, set up the camping gear, and create a warm, cozy space to wait out the power outage."

"That's..." She pauses, considering. "Actually brilliant."

"I told you I was practical."

The next hour is spent transforming your living room into what can only be described as the ultimate adult blanket fort. You use chairs and the coffee table to create a framework, then drape every blanket and sheet you own over it to create an enclosed space. Inside, you spread out camping mattresses and sleeping bags, set up battery-powered lanterns, and arrange pillows for maximum comfort.

"This is ridiculous," Hanni says, crawling inside the finished fort. "And I absolutely love it."

"Welcome to Fort Blackout," you announce, settling beside her. "Population: two."

"It's perfect," she says, snuggling against your side. "Like being kids again, but with the possibility of sex."

"The best kind of fort."

You spend the afternoon in your blanket sanctuary, talking and laughing and learning more about each other. Hanni tells you about growing up between two cultures, never quite fitting perfectly in either one. You tell her about your job and your friends and your general quarter-life confusion about what you're supposed to be doing with your existence.

"Do you ever think about just leaving?" she asks. "Packing up and starting over somewhere else?"

"Sometimes," you admit. "But I've got a good life here. Friends, decent job, this place. It seems stupid to throw that away just because I'm restless."

"But what if staying is what's stupid?" she challenges. "What if the life you have is just... fine... but not actually what you want?"

"What if I don't know what I want?"

"Then you travel until you figure it out," she says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"Not everyone can do what you're doing, Hanni. Some of us have responsibilities."

"What responsibilities?" she asks, genuinely curious rather than judgmental.

"I don't know... rent, career progression, not disappointing my parents..."

"Those aren't responsibilities," she says gently. "Those are expectations. Other people's expectations."

"What's the difference?"

"Responsibility is taking care of yourself and the people you love. Everything else is just pressure you're choosing to accept."

It's such a simple distinction, but it hits you hard. How much of your life is actually driven by what you want versus what you think you should want?

"You make it sound easy," you say.

"It's not easy," she admits. "It's terrifying. But it's also the most alive I've ever felt."

You're quiet for a moment, processing this. "Is that what last night was about? Feeling alive?"

"Partly," she says. "But not just that."

"What else?"

She turns to face you in the dim light of the fort. "Connection. Real connection with someone who sees me as I actually am, not as who they want me to be."

"And who are you actually?"

"I'm still figuring that out," she says with a smile. "But I know I'm someone who sleeps with beautiful strangers during storms and builds blanket forts and doesn't have a five-year plan."

"That sounds like a pretty good person to be."

"You think so?"

"I think so."

She kisses you then, soft and sweet, and you lose yourselves in each other again. There's something about the enclosed space of the fort that makes everything feel more intimate, more secret. Like you're the only two people in the world.

By evening, the temperature outside has dropped significantly, and you can feel the cold seeping into the apartment despite your fort construction. You've been keeping warm by staying close together, but it's clear you're going to need additional strategies for the night.

"I'm actually cold," Hanni admits, shivering slightly despite being wrapped in a sleeping bag.

"Time for phase three," you announce.

"Which is?"

"Hot food and alcohol."

You venture out of the fort to cook dinner on the camp stove - simple but warm soup and grilled cheese made on the gas stovetop. The bottle of wine from last night is joined by the whiskey you bought yesterday, and soon you're both warming up from the inside.

"This is actually fun," Hanni says, curled up next to you with a mug of soup. "Like camping, but with better amenities."

"Better company too," you say.

"You've done a lot of camping?"

"Some. I went through a phase where I thought I wanted to be outdoorsy. Bought all the gear, planned these elaborate trips, then realized I'm much more of an indoor person."

"What changed your mind?"

"Sleeping on the ground sucks," you say simply. "Also, I like showers and reliable wifi."

She laughs. "So you're a fake outdoorsman."

"Completely fake. I appreciate nature from a comfortable distance."

"Good thing I like fake outdoorsmen."

"Is that your type?"

"Apparently," she says, leaning over to kiss you.

The kiss tastes like wine and soup. When you break apart, she's looking at you with an expression you can't quite read.

"What?" you ask.

"Nothing, just... this is nice. Sitting here with you, talking about nothing important."

"As opposed to?"

"As opposed to the kind of conversations I usually have. About careers and goals and where do you see yourself in five years." She makes a face. "I'm so sick of those conversations."

"What would you rather talk about?"

"Anything else. Favorite books, worst fears, what you wanted to be when you were seven years old."

"A dinosaur," you say immediately.

"What?"

"When I was seven, I wanted to be a dinosaur. Specifically a T-Rex."

She stares at you for a moment, then bursts into laughter. "That's the best answer anyone's ever given to that question."

"What about you? What did seven-year-old Hanni want to be?"

"A translator," she says. "I wanted to be one of those people at the United Nations who wear headphones and translate speeches in real time."

"That's… very specific for a seven-year-old."

"I was fascinated by the idea that you could help people understand each other just by knowing multiple languages. It seemed like magic."

"It kind of is magic," you say. "Being able to communicate across cultures like that."

"Maybe that's part of why I'm learning German and Portuguese. Chasing that childhood dream in a roundabout way."

"Are you good at languages?"

"Pretty good. I'm fluent in Vietnamese and English, obviously, and my Spanish is solid. German is harder because the grammar is insane, but I love how precise it is."

"Say something in German," you request.

"Like what?"

"Anything. I just want to hear how it sounds."

She thinks for a moment, then says something in German that sounds both melodic and strong.

"What did that mean?" you ask.

"I said, 'This is the strangest and most wonderful weekend of my life.'"

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

You're both quiet for a moment, the weight of the sentiment settling between you.

"Can I ask you something?" Hanni says eventually.

"Always."

"What happens after tomorrow?"

It's the question you've both been avoiding, and hearing it out loud makes your chest tighten.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, do we exchange numbers and promise to keep in touch? Do we pretend this never happened? Do we..." She trails off, looking uncertain for the first time since you've known her.

"I don't know," you admit. "What do you want to happen?"

"I don't know either. That's the problem."

You set down your mug and turn to face her fully. "Why is it a problem?"

"Because I'm leaving," she says. "Because this was supposed to be simple and uncomplicated, and it's turning into something that feels... not simple."

"What does it feel like?"

She's quiet for a long moment, looking down at her hands. "It feels like the beginning of something important," she says finally. "And I don't know what to do with that."

Your heart does something complicated in your chest. "Hanni..."

"I know," she says quickly. "I know this wasn't supposed to be about feelings. But I can't help it. I really like you. Like, really really like you."

"I really like you too," you tell her, reaching out to take her hand. "More than I expected to. More than is probably smart."

"So what do we do?"

"I don't know," you say honestly. "But I know I don't want to spend our last day together worrying about what comes after."

"You're right," she says, squeezing your hand. "Whatever happens, happens. Right now is what matters."

"Right now is pretty great."

"It really is."

She leans over to kiss you, and this time there's something different in it; a tenderness that goes beyond just attraction or desire. It's the kind of kiss that means something, whether you want it to or not.

"So," she says when you break apart, "how exactly are we going to stay warm tonight?"

"I have some ideas," you say with a grin.

"Involving the sleeping bags?"

"Definitely involving the sleeping bags."

"And shared body heat?"

"Lots of shared body heat."

"Show me," she says, and there's something in her voice that makes your pulse quicken.

You spend the next few minutes rearranging the fort, zipping two sleeping bags together to create one larger sleeping space. The battery-powered lanterns cast warm, golden light over everything, creating an atmosphere that's both cozy and intimate.

"Come here," you say, settling into the makeshift bed.

She crawls over to you, and in the confined space of the fort, everything feels closer, more intense. When you kiss her this time, it's with the knowledge that your time together is limited, which makes every touch more precious.

"I want you," she whispers against your lips.

"You have me," you whisper back.

What follows is slow and thorough and incredibly intimate. In the warm cocoon of the fort, with the cold wind whistling outside, you take your time worshipping each other's bodies. Every kiss, every touch, every whispered endearment feels like something to be treasured.

When Hanni straddles your hips and slowly sinks down onto you, the look in her eyes is so intense it takes your breath away.

"God," she gasps, her head falling back as she adjusts to the feeling of your cock inside her.

"Look at me," you say softly, reaching up to cup her face.

She meets your eyes, and the connection is electric. There's something vulnerable and open in her expression that makes your chest tight with emotion.

"You're so beautiful," you tell her, because it's true and because she needs to hear it.

"So are you," she whispers, beginning to move slowly.

The rhythm you find together is unhurried and perfect. In the golden light of the lanterns, with the storm sounds providing a soundtrack, everything feels dreamlike and magical.

"I don't want this to end," she gasps as you hit a particularly good angle.

"Then don't let it," you say, sitting up to wrap your arms around her.

The new position brings you even closer together, and she makes a sound of pleasure that goes straight to your soul.

"Like this," she breathes, moving against you in a way that makes you see stars. "I want to feel all of you."

You lose track of time after that, lost in the rhythm of her body and the sounds she makes and the way she looks in the flickering light. When she finally falls apart around you, crying out your name, it triggers your own release with an intensity that leaves you shaking.

Afterward, you hold each other close in the warmth of the sleeping bags, listening to the wind outside.

"That was..." Hanni starts, then trails off.

"Yeah," you agree, understanding perfectly.

"Is it weird that I'm already sad about leaving?" she asks quietly.

"Is it weird that I'm already planning ways to convince you to stay?" you counter.

She lifts her head to look at you. "What kind of ways?"

"I don't know. Bribery, maybe. Really good coffee and homemade breakfast every morning."

"That's a compelling offer."

"I could throw in backrubs and excellent fort-building skills."

"You do build an excellent fort," she concedes.

"Plus, think of all the storms we could survive together."

She's quiet for a moment, and you can see her thinking.

"It's tempting," she says finally. "But you know I can't."

"I know," you say, even though part of you was hoping she might say yes. "Doesn't stop me from wanting to ask."

"What if..." She hesitates, then seems to make a decision. "What if distance doesn't have to mean the end?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, what if we see what happens? Stay in touch, see where you are when I'm done traveling."

Your heart jumps at the possibility. "You'd want that?"

"I don't know what I want long-term," she says honestly. "But I know I don't want to just forget about you when I leave tomorrow."

"I don't want to forget about you either."

"So maybe we don't have to figure it all out right now. Maybe we just... see what happens."

"No pressure, no expectations," you say, echoing the conversation from the night before.

"Just... possibility."

"I like possibility."

"Good," she says, settling back against your chest. "Because I think you might be worth waiting for."

The words hit you harder than they should, given that you've known her for less than two days. But lying there in your blanket fort, holding this incredible girl who's managed to turn your entire world upside down in the span of a weekend, waiting doesn't seem like such a terrible thing.

Outside, the wind is still howling, but inside your makeshift sanctuary, everything feels perfect. You're warm and safe and holding someone who makes you want to be braver than you've ever been.

"Hanni?" you say softly.

"Mmm?"

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"For making me feel alive."

She tilts her head up to kiss your jaw. "Thank you for making me feel like myself."

You fall asleep like that, wrapped around each other in a pile of blankets and sleeping bags, with the storm providing a lullaby and the promise of one more day together when you wake up.

Day Three: Departure

Sunday morning arrives with cruel sunshine.

You wake to Hanni tracing patterns on your chest, her finger following the lines of your muscles in the golden light streaming through the apartment windows. Sometime during the night, the power came back on - you can hear the quiet hum of the refrigerator and see the digital clock on the microwave blinking 12:00 in the kitchen.

"The storm's over," she says softly, not looking up from her artwork on your skin.

"Yeah," you agree, though you're not sure if she's talking about the weather or the weekend.

"I checked my phone. My flight's still on schedule for tonight."

"What time?"

"Eight-thirty. I should probably leave here around five to get to the airport and check in."

You do the math automatically. It's 9:15 now. Less than eight hours left.

"We should make them count," you say, tightening your arms around her.

"What do you want to do?"

The question hangs in the air between you. What do you do on the last day with someone who's about to walk out of your life? How do you fit a lifetime of experiences into eight hours?

"Everything," you say finally. "I want to do everything with you."

She smiles and looks up at you. "Everything's a pretty big list."

"Then we better get started."

What follows is the kind of day you'll remember for the rest of your life. Not because anything particularly extraordinary happens, but because of the weight of knowing it's all temporary. Every moment feels heightened, more vivid, like you're seeing everything in higher definition.

You start with breakfast in bed; real breakfast this time, with the coffee maker working and eggs that don't require camping equipment. Hanni steals bites of your toast and gets jam on her chin, and when you lean over to kiss it off, she tastes like strawberries.

"So what's the plan?" she asks, curled up next to you with her coffee.

"First, shower," you say. "A real shower, with hot water and actual water pressure."

"Together?" she asks with a grin that makes your pulse quicken.

"Definitely together."

The shower turns into an extended exploration of what it feels like to worship someone's body under hot water. You take turns washing each other with deliberate care, learning the geography of skin and muscle and the places that make each other gasp. When Hanni drops to her knees and takes you in her mouth under the spray of water, you have to brace yourself against the tile wall to keep from collapsing.

"Fuck, Hanni," you groan, your hands tangling in her wet hair.

She hums around you, the vibration making your knees weak. When you finally pull her up to kiss her, she's laughing and breathless and more beautiful than should be legal.

"My turn," you murmur against her lips, and proceed to return the favor until she's crying out your name and trembling against you.

By the time you finally make it out of the shower, it's almost noon and you're both wrinkled from the water and grinning like idiots.

"Best shower of my life," Hanni announces, wrapping herself in one of your towels.

"Just wait until you see what I can do with actual food and a working kitchen," you tell her.

"I've tried every kind of food in America. Do you think you can surprise me?"

"Watch me."

You spend the next hour cooking together - and you use the term "together" loosely, since Hanni's contribution mostly involves sitting on the counter distracting you with her legs and making unhelpful comments about your technique.

"You're supposed to flip it when the edges start to set," she says, watching you make pancakes.

"I know how to make pancakes," you say, though you're more focused on the way her towel is riding up her thighs than on the cooking.

"Are you sure? Because that one looks a little..."

"A little what?"

"Burned," she says with a laugh.

You look down at the pan and realize she's right. "That's your fault for being distracting."

"I'm just sitting here."

"You're sitting there being gorgeous and naked under that towel. It's very distracting."

"Poor baby," she says with mock sympathy. "Can't cook when there's a pretty girl in the kitchen."

"Not just any pretty girl," you correct, moving to stand between her legs. "You specifically. You're like kryptonite for my domestic skills."

"Kryptonite?" She wraps her arms around your neck. "I'm your weakness?"

"My greatest weakness," you confirm, leaning in to kiss her.

The pancakes burn.

You order takeout instead, laughing about your complete failure at domestic goddess status. While you wait for the food to arrive, Hanni gets dressed in clothes from her suitcase; jeans and a soft gray sweater that makes her skin glow.

"I need to do laundry when I get to Germany," she says, examining the contents of her suitcase. "I've been living out of this thing for months."

"What's Germany like?" you ask, settling on the bed to watch her pack and repack her things.

"I don't know yet. I fly into Munich, then I'm taking trains around to different cities. I want to see as much as possible before I settle somewhere to really focus on the language."

"How long will you be there?"

"Three months, maybe four. Depends on how quickly I pick up the German and whether I like it enough to stay longer."

"And then Portugal and Brazil?"

"That's the plan. Though plans have a way of changing when you're traveling." She looks at you. "I'm learning to be okay with not knowing what comes next."

"Must be liberating."

"It is. Terrifying, but liberating." She sits on the edge of the bed. "What about you? Any plans to escape your comfortable life?"

"Maybe," you say, surprising yourself. "I've been thinking about what you said yesterday. About the difference between responsibilities and expectations."

"And?"

"And maybe you're right. Maybe I've been living someone else's idea of what my life should look like."

"What would your idea look like?"

It's a good question, and one you've been afraid to ask yourself. "I don't know," you admit. "But I think I'd like to find out."

"That's the first step," she says softly. "Admitting you don't know."

The food arrives, interrupting the conversation, but her words stick with you. As you eat lunch together on your couch (Thai food this time, eaten straight from the containers) you find yourself looking at your apartment with different eyes. When did you stop thinking of this place as temporary and start thinking of it as permanent? When did you stop asking yourself what you wanted and start just accepting what you had?

"Penny for your thoughts," Hanni says, nudging you with her foot.

"Just thinking about what you said. About not knowing what comes next."

"Having second thoughts about your perfectly adequate life?"

"Maybe." You look at her. "Is that crazy?"

"The only crazy thing would be staying somewhere that doesn't make you happy just because it's safe."

"But what if I leave and it turns out this was as good as it gets? What if I'm throwing away something good for something that might not even exist?"

"What if you stay and spend the rest of your life wondering what might have been?"

She has a point. You've been so focused on not making the wrong choice that you've avoided making any choice at all.

"Besides," she continues, "who says you have to figure it all out at once? You could start small. Take a vacation somewhere you've always wanted to go. Apply for jobs in other cities. See what happens."

"Is that how you started? Small steps?"

"God, no," she laughs. "I went full nuclear option. Quit everything, bought a plane ticket, and hoped for the best."

"How's that working out for you?"

"Well, I'm sitting in an apartment eating Thai food with a guy I met two days ago who makes me feel like I can conquer the world," she says. "So I'd say it's working out pretty well."

"Even though you're leaving tonight?"

"Especially because I'm leaving tonight." She sets down her food and moves closer to you. "Don't you see? If I had stayed home, played it safe, followed the plan, I never would have met you. I never would have had this weekend."

"But you're still leaving."

"But I'm not forgetting." She cups your face in her hands. "Some experiences aren't meant to last forever. That doesn't make them less valuable."

"How do you know the difference? Between something that's meant to be temporary and something that's worth fighting for?"

"You don't," she says simply. "That's what makes it an adventure."

You're quiet for a moment, processing this. "You're very wise for someone who doesn't have a five-year plan."

"I'm very stupid for someone who's falling for a guy she can't keep," she counters.

"Are you? Falling?"

She's quiet for so long you think she's not going to answer.

"Yeah," she says. "I think I am."

"Hanni..."

"I know," she says quickly. "I know it's stupid and impractical and completely against the rules we set up. But I can't help it."

"The rules were stupid anyway," you say, pulling her closer. "Who makes rules about not having feelings?"

"Smart people who don't want to get hurt."

"Are we smart people?"

"Definitely not," she says with a laugh that sounds slightly watery.

"Good. Smart people are boring."

"Are you?" she asks, looking at you with those dark eyes that see too much. "Falling?"

You think about lying, about protecting yourself and her from the complications that come with admitting feelings. But looking at her face, open and vulnerable and beautiful, you can't bring yourself to do it.

"Yeah," you say. "I'm definitely falling."

She closes her eyes like the admission hurts. "This is a disaster."

"The best kind of disaster."

"We're going to end up heartbroken."

"Maybe. Or maybe we'll end up with something amazing."

"How can we have something amazing when I'm leaving?"

"I don't know," you admit. "But I know that what we have right now is amazing, and I don't want to waste it worrying about later."

She opens her eyes and looks at you. "You're right. We have..." She checks her phone. "Four hours. What do you want to do with four hours?"

"Make love to you," you say immediately, then feel yourself blush at the words. "I mean... fuck. I meant have sex. Make love sounds so..."

"Perfect," she interrupts softly. "It sounds perfect."

And it is perfect. You carry her to the bedroom and spend the next two hours learning each other's bodies with a tenderness that goes far beyond anything you've shared before. Every touch is deliberate, every kiss is meaningful, every moment feels like something to be treasured.

When Hanni arches beneath you, gasping your name as you move inside her, the look in her eyes is so full of emotion it takes your breath away.

"I love the way you feel," she whispers, her legs wrapped around your waist. "I love how we fit together."

"I love everything about you," you say, and immediately freeze. It's too much, too soon, too honest.

But instead of pulling away, she smiles. "Say it again."

"I love everything about you," you repeat, this time deliberately. "Your smile, your laugh, the way you think about the world. I love how brave you are and how honest you are and how you make me want to be braver too."

"I love you too," she says simply, and the words hang in the air between you like a gift.

You stop moving, overwhelmed by the magnitude of the moment. "Hanni..."

"I know it's crazy," she says, her hands framing your face. "I know we just met and I'm leaving and this is supposed to be casual. But I love you. I love you and I needed to say it."

"I love you too," you say, and saying it feels like jumping off a cliff. "God, I love you so much it scares me."

What happens next transcends anything you've experienced before. You move together with a desperation that comes from knowing this is precious and temporary. When you both finally fall apart, it's with tears in your eyes and each other's names on your lips.

Afterward, you hold each other in the afternoon sunlight streaming through your bedroom windows, both of you quiet and overwhelmed.

"So," Hanni says eventually, her voice slightly hoarse. "We're in love."

"Apparently."

"That complicates things."

"Just a little."

She's quiet for a moment, then starts laughing. "This is insane. I'm in love with someone I met three days ago."

"Two days," you correct. "It's only been two days."

"That makes it worse, not better."

"Or it makes it magic."

She lifts her head to look at you. "You really think so?"

"I think that falling in love isn't supposed to be logical or convenient or follow a timeline. I think it just happens when it happens."

"And it happened to us."

"It happened to us."

"In the middle of a storm."

"The best things happen during storms."

She smiles and settles back against your chest. "So what now?"

"Now we figure out what to do with it."

"I still have to leave."

"I know."

"And you still have your life here."

"I know."

"And long-distance relationships are hard and usually don't work."

"I know."

"But?"

"But I love you," you say simply. "And you love me. And maybe that's enough to figure out the rest."

"You'd really want to try? Even knowing how complicated it'll be?"

"Hanni, I've never felt about anyone the way I feel about you. If there's even a chance we could make this work, I want to take it."

"What if I'm traveling for a year? What if I decide to stay in Europe? What if—"

"What if you stop asking what-if questions and we just see what happens?" you interrupt gently.

She's quiet for a long moment. "You'd really wait for me? Even not knowing when or if I'll come back?"

"I'd really wait for you."

"Why?"

"Because some people are worth waiting for," you say, echoing her words from the night before. "And you're definitely one of them."

She turns to kiss you, and there's something different in this kiss - hope, maybe, or possibility.

"Okay," she says against your lips.

"Okay what?"

"Okay, let's try. Let's see what happens."

"Really?"

"Really. I can't promise anything, and I don't know how it'll work, but... I love you. I want to see where this goes."

The relief that floods through you is almost overwhelming. "I love you too. We'll figure it out."

"Together?"

"Together."

You spend the remaining time before she has to leave for the airport doing normal, domestic things that feel anything but normal. You help her pack, though mostly you just sit on the bed and watch her fold clothes while trying to memorize every detail about her. You make coffee and share a mug, taking turns sipping from it like you're sharing something sacred.

At 4:30, you call a car to take her to the airport.

"I should go wait downstairs," she says, shouldering her backpack.

"I'll come with you."

"You don't have to—"

"I want to."

The ride to the airport is quiet, both of you lost in your own thoughts. Hanni's hand is in yours, and you find yourself memorizing the feel of it: the softness of her skin, the way her fingers fit between yours, the small callus on her index finger from writing.

At the departure terminal, you help her get her bags from the trunk and then stand there facing each other, neither wanting to be the first to say goodbye.

"This is it," she says finally.

"This is it."

"I'll text you when I land in Munich."

"I'll be waiting."

"And we'll video chat when the time zones work out."

"Every day if you want."

"I want." She steps closer, looking up at you with eyes that are bright with unshed tears. "I'm going to miss you so much."

"I'm going to miss you too."

"Thank you," she says softly.

"For what?"

"For the best three days of my life. For making me feel like myself. For being brave enough to fall in love with me."

"Thank you for falling in love with me back."

She rises up on her toes to kiss you, and it's soft and sweet and tinged with the sadness of goodbye.

"I love you," she whispers against your lips.

"I love you too," you whisper back. "Now go have adventures. I'll be here when you're ready."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

You watch her walk into the terminal, turning back once to wave before she disappears into the crowd. You stand there for a long time after she's gone, watching planes take off through the windows and thinking about how much your life has changed in three days On the drive home, your apartment feels different, too quiet, too empty, like it's missing something essential. You walk through the rooms, touching things she touched, remembering the way she looked curled up on your couch or standing in your kitchen making coffee.

The blanket fort is still set up in your living room, and you find yourself crawling inside it, surrounded by the lingering scent of her perfume and the memory of everything you shared there.

Your phone buzzes with a text: "Boarding now. Thank you for everything. I love you."

You text back: "Fly safe. I love you too. This isn't goodbye, it's see you later."

"See you later," she responds, followed by a heart emoji.

You lie there in the fort, thinking about storms and timing and the way some people can walk into your life and change everything in the space of a weekend. Outside, the city is settling into Sunday evening normalcy, but inside your apartment, everything feels transformed.

Your phone rings. It's Jake, your former roommate.

"Hey man," he says when you answer. "How'd you survive the storm? Power's been out in half the city."

"It was... interesting," you say, which might be the understatement of the year.

"Just interesting? Dude, that was like a once-in-a-decade storm. Didn't you have Danielle's friend staying with you?"

"Yeah. Hanni."

"How was that? Awkward having a stranger crash during the apocalypse?"

You think about how to answer that. How do you explain that a stranger became the most important person in your world in the span of three days? How do you describe falling in love during a storm?

"Actually," you say, "it was perfect."

"Perfect? Really?"

"Really."

"Huh. Well, good for you, man. I was worried you'd be miserable stuck inside with some random girl."

"Definitely not miserable," you say, and you can't help but smile despite the ache in your chest.

After you hang up, you stay in the fort for a while longer, thinking about everything that's happened and everything that might happen next. Tomorrow you'll go back to work, back to your regular life, but something fundamental has shifted. Hanni was right: you can't go back to just going through the motions when you know what it feels like to be truly alive.

Your phone buzzes again. A photo this time - Hanni at her gate, giving a thumbs up with a smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes.

"Gate 47. Thinking of our fort," she's written.

You take a picture of yourself inside the blanket fort and send it back. "Fort misses you already."

"Save it for when I get back?"

"It'll be here waiting."

"Good. I love you."

"I love you too. Safe travels, beautiful."

You stay in the fort until long after her plane has taken off, scrolling through the few photos you managed to take over the weekend and reading through your text conversation. Eventually, you clean up the living room, folding blankets and putting furniture back where it belongs. But you keep one of the sleeping bags on the couch, and you don't put away all the candles.

Some things are worth preserving.

That night, you lie in your bed (which feels too big and too empty now) and think about the future. For the first time in years, you don't know exactly what comes next, and instead of that feeling terrifying, it feels like possibility.

You think about Hanni somewhere over the Atlantic, probably asleep in her cramped airplane seat, flying toward her next adventure. You think about the conversations you'll have and the texts you'll exchange and the video calls that will have to substitute for being together.

It won't be easy. Long-distance relationships require work and patience and faith that what you have is worth the difficulty. But lying there in the dark, remembering the way she looked at you when she said she loved you, you know it will be worth it.

Your phone buzzes one last time. "Somewhere over the ocean. Can't sleep. Thinking about our storm."

"Think we'll have another one?" you text back, not sure if she's still awake to receive it.

The response comes immediately: "I'm counting on it."

You fall asleep smiling, and you dream of storms and girls who taste like adventure and the way some weekends can change your entire life.

Three days. It took three days for a stranger to become the most important person in your world. Three days to fall in love and decide to fight for something that should be impossible.

But as you've learned, the best things usually happen during storms.

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