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cudama · 29 days ago

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Chapter 1 - After the snow storm

🌀✨ Chapter 1 of Storms We Keep just got a full refresh ✨🌀

I’ve grown a lot as a writer, and I wanted to do justice to the beginning of this story. Here’s a new version of Chapter 1—Max’s POV. Soft angst, secret powers, snowy silences, and the ache of wanting to be seen.

1. Chapter- After The Snow Storm

It’s been two days since the snowstorm passed. Two days since my secret wasn’t so secret anymore.

The snow had stopped hours ago, but the hush it left behind stretched thin and strange, turning every second into something uncomfortable. The kind of quiet that makes you wonder if the world has forgotten to breathe, or if it’s you who has. And honestly, I wasn’t sure I wanted to know the answer.

I lay on my bed, unmoving. Same bed. Same ceiling. Same moonlight casting soft shapes on the walls. The soft glow slipping through the tall windows Moses loves so much—the ones that frame the sky like a photograph. And right now, that photograph was a quiet, cloud-strewn night, inked in cold and shadow.

The room felt too big, like it was swallowing me whole. Or maybe I was just shrinking. Either way, nothing felt right. The quiet was oppressive, like it was waiting for something to happen—or for me to make a choice I wasn’t ready to make.

I kept asking myself the same question: Did I make a mistake telling them about my powers?

Somehow, it was easier to breathe when nobody knew. But at the same time, it felt so right to finally tell them. I remember how hard it was to carry that secret alone. But that version of me feels like a stranger now—like it happened in another lifetime. And now? They all look at me differently. Especially Amanda.

My eyes drifted toward the nightstand. My phone’s screen glowed faintly in the darkness, showing the time: 02:13. No new messages, of course. The storm—or more accurately, my storm—had apparently knocked out all the telephone lines. No signal. No Wi-Fi. I guess it wasn’t the worst thing. At least I finally got to watch those DVDs Moses had been nagging me about for months.

Still, I picked up my phone and scrolled through Amanda’s messages. As I read, her laugh echoed in my brain, trailing after that godawful line I’d blurted out ,that I could eat her under the table. I still get second-hand embarrassment from that, like full-body cringe —but if it made Amanda smile, it was worth it. I keep thinking about the date we could’ve had. If I hadn’t fucked everything up. Her voice echoed next, softer. I can’t be your Lois Lane. Not yet.

Not yet.

God. This stupid power. I never wanted it in the first place. I shouldn’t have told them. I shouldn’t have told them.

She said she needed space. And I get that. Really, I do. I’d probably need space too, only I never knew how to ask for it. Never knew what to do when someone offered it. Fuck, I probably wouldn’t date me either. But she said she liked me. So why does it feel like I’m the villain in my own story?

I rolled onto my side, my fingers brushing against my camera on the nightstand. It felt like an anchor—a lifeline to a version of me that made sense. When the world felt too loud, too chaotic, I used it as a way to freeze it into something still and beautiful. But now? Now it feels like my whole life is a snapshot out of focus. A frame I can’t fix, no matter how many times I try. I feel pressure building behind my ribs. That feeling like you’re about to cry, but the tears won’t come.

What did I even expect? To be a hero? To save everyone? To fix everything with a single button? I can’t even fix myself. I wish I could rewind time again. But even if I could, we all know where that road ends. With a cliff. Something straight out of Thelma & Louise ending scene.

And then, just as I thought I might suffocate under the weight of my own thoughts—a knock. It was so soft, so tentative, I almost thought I imagined it. My heart skipped a beat, and I held still, my breath caught halfway up my throat, straining to hear it again. There it was. A light tap at the door, a sound that seemed too delicate for the stillness of the night.

I didn’t move right away. Part of me wanted to stay in that cocoon of silence, to pretend like nothing was happening, like the world outside hadn’t been asking me to face it. But then a flicker of instinct nudged through the fog: it might be Safi, who else would be knocking at my door at this ungodly hour.

I stood, suddenly aware of how loud my heartbeat was, thudding in my chest like I was still caught in the storm. “I’m coming” I shouted, quite terrified at how loud I sounded in the stillness. My breath caught as I hurried to the stairs, my hands shaky as I grabbed the hoodie from over the fence, fumbling with the sleeves like my fingers had forgotten how to move. My porch light was knocked out in the storm, so all I saw through the glass was the pale outline of a figure. The cold air hit me the moment I opened the door.

There she was. Amanda. Standing in the freezing dark, her breath visible in the air, just barely lit by the moonlight. Snowflakes dotted her hair, and the way it framed her flushed cheeks made me feel like I’d forgotten just how beautiful she was. Her eyes, usually clear, were filled with something I couldn’t quite place, a mix of concern, hesitation, and maybe something else.

“I… I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” she said, voice barely above a whisper. The words seemed to echo in the stillness, landing heavy in the space between us. She was nervous—I could see it in the way her fingers fidgeted with the edge of her red knitted scarf, tugging at loose threads. Her hands were trembling, though whether it was from the cold or something else, I wasn’t sure.

For a moment, I couldn’t move. My brain scrambled to catch up with my heart, which had just skipped several beats. Then, without a word, I stepped aside, lifting a hand to let her know she should come in.

Amanda brushed past me, and that’s when I caught it- her scent, warm and familiar, like a mix of coffee and something floral. It hit me like a memory I hadn’t realized I’d been holding onto, something so uniquely her that it left me dizzy.

She stopped in front of the fireplace, where the moonlight painted silver streaks across the floor. Her hair was in messy twin buns, loose strands framing her face. My stomach twisted painfully. Had she been up all night, like me? Or was there another reason her hair looked like that? A bitter pang of jealousy struck me before I could stop it, an ugly thought whispering that maybe she’d spent the night with someone else. I shoved the thought aside, stomping on it like a cigarette butt under my boot. It didn’t matter—at least, it shouldn’t.

I stepped closer, my movements slow, careful, like I was afraid I might scare her away. Amanda turned slightly, still pulling at her scarf. “I always picked my battles carefully,” her voice quiet but steady. “If something looked too difficult… too messy… I’d run. Every time.” The words hit me harder than I expected, like they were aimed straight at my ribs. Difficult. Messy. Me. That’s what she meant, wasn’t it? I swallowed hard, my chest tightening, but I couldn’t look away from her.

She looked down, exhaled slowly, then met my eyes again. “And Max, this—us—this is the definition of messy. I mean, you…” she hesitated, her voice catching, “You can manipulate time. That’s the kind of messy I didn’t even know existed.”

There was something sharp in her tone, wavering between disbelief, anger and fear, but then her gaze softened, a flicker of something real and unguarded.“But it seems that I…” she paused, her voice barely above a whisper now, “I can’t run away from you.”

Her words echoed in my mind, over and over, until they were all I could hear. I couldn’t find enough air to speak. Her hands gripped the edge of her scarf again, tugging at the loose threads like she could pull herself together if she just kept moving. “I just—I needed you to know.”

Then she looked down, her shoulders slumping slightly, and I swear I saw the shimmer of tears in her eyes. She squished them shut, but it didn’t stop the tear that slipped free and traced a path down her cheek. Her voice cracked as she whispered, “This was a mistake.” She turned sharply, heading for the door, her Dr. Martin boots creaking against the wooden floorboards.

In the middle of the second stride and before I knew what I was doing, I reached out and caught her hand My fingers closed gently around hers, and the warmth of her skin against mine startled me as much as it did her “Wait.” my voice cracked, and I hated how small it sounded. She gasped and froze.

She didn’t turn back fully, just angled her head slightly, eyes flicking to the window where snow was still drifting outside. “I couldn’t sleep,” she said, her voice trembling. “I kept thinking about… you. About everything. About how none of this makes sense. How it’s impossible.” Her quiet words tugged at something deep inside me, pulling me toward her before I realized I’d even moved. “You don’t have to run,” I said softly, my voice steadier this time. “I don’t want you to run”

Amanda turned to face me fully, and I don’t know where the bravery came from—maybe it wasn’t bravery, maybe it was desperation, something I couldn’t explain—but I stepped closer. Close enough to see the wet track the tear had left on her cheek. Close enough to smell the coffee and floral scent that clung to her. My thumb moved before I thought about it, brushing the tear away as gently as I could. She didn’t pull back. Her eyes searched mine, wide and vulnerable. And then, to my surprise, she leaned into my touch, her cheek pressing softly against my palm.

Her voice broke the silence. “I don’t like to go out of my comfort zone.” she said with a bit of trembling to her voice, “But I’m here Max, telling you I’m willing to try” I didn’t trust myself to speak, not when my chest felt this tight, like something inside me might shatter if I broke the silence.

So instead, I leaned in.

Slow. Careful. Giving her enough time to pull away, enough space for her to change her mind. I stopped once. Then again. Her breath caught both times, but she didn’t move. She just stood there, her breath shaky, her watery eyes flickering between my lips and my eyes. I slowly lifted my other hand to her face gently cup her face. Her skin was cool from the cold, but soft. And then—our lips touched. They were so soft to the touch.

My first thought was that I’d forgotten how to do this. That I’d forgotten how it felt to be wanted. But then Amanda kissed me back. Her hands slipped from her scarf and found my waist, fingers tentative but certain. The contact sent a jolt through me—like every nerve in my body remembered her all at once.

I kissed her again, slower this time. My lips moved gently against hers, cautious and reverent, like I was afraid to push too far. But she tilted her head and deepened the kiss with a quiet hum, and it was like everything inside me cracked open. The space between hesitation and hunger blurred in an instant.

When she pulled away to breathe, her forehead rested against mine, both of us exhaling unevenly. “Max…” she whispered, my name falling from her lips like it carried all the things she couldn’t say out loud.

I couldn’t find words either, not when my mind was still spinning from the fact that this—this—was happening. Amanda pulled back just far enough to look at me. Her face was flushed, her eyes searching mine, and for a moment, I wondered if she was about to say something. Instead, she took a step forward, guiding me gently until my knees hit the edge of the couch. I sat down instinctively, the suddenness of it making me blink up at her.

“Amanda?” My voice cracked slightly, and I hated how breathless I sounded.

She didn’t answer—not with words. Instead, she moved with quiet confidence, straddling my lap like it was the most natural thing in the world. My heart thudded so loudly I was sure she could hear it. I froze, hands hovering awkwardly at her sides. “Are you…?”

Amanda smiled softly, a hint of nervousness in her own eyes as her hands settled on my shoulders. “I’m sure, Max,” she murmured, her voice steady despite the flush in her cheeks. “But if you don’t want this…”

“I do,” I said, faster than I meant to. “I just didn’t expect…” Her smile widened, and for a moment, everything felt lighter. “Neither did I.” And then she kissed me again.

This time, there was no hesitation. The kiss was deeper, slower, but filled with a quiet urgency—like we were both trying to make up for lost time. She tasted like beer and coffee. Her hands slid up into my hair, and I let out a shaky breath against her lips, my arms finally finding their place around her. One hand settled gently on her waist, the other brushing against the curve of her back. Amanda sighed into the kiss, her weight grounding me, pulling me into this moment where nothing else—no storms, no powers, no doubts—existed. Just her. Just us.

Her jacket and scarf had been long forgotten on the hardwood floor, and the air around us was thick with heat and hush. My hands slipped lower, down the curve of her waist, until they cradled the swell of her ass—careful, reverent, like I still couldn’t believe she was letting me touch her. Our kisses turned messier, wetter, desperate in that way where neither of us seemed able to stop, like our mouths were trying to make sense of everything words couldn’t. And then—her tongue brushed mine, slow at first, then deeper, bolder, exploring like she wanted to learn me all over again. The sensation lit something in me I hadn’t felt in so long—something molten and overwhelming—and I felt completely unmoored. Unhinged in the quietest, softest way. Dizzied by how her fingers clutched at me, like I was real. Like I was hers.

She pulled back, panting. Her breath hit my lips and my neck in staggered little bursts, and before I could say anything—before I could even begin to name what was happening—she crossed her arms and peeled off her turtleneck in one smooth, practiced motion. I blinked as the fabric hit the floor, stunned into stillness as her hands moved behind her back and unclasped her bra like it was second nature, like shedding her armor. She wasn’t rushing. She wasn’t afraid. She just... was. In front of me. Bare from the waist up, the faintest sheen of moonlight painting the delicate slope of her collarbone, the curve of her chest, the soft shadow between her ribs. I didn’t even realize I was holding my breath until it came out in a quiet, shaky exhale.

I froze, my eyes trailing over her body, my cheeks burning. She was beautiful. Not in the way people write about in poems or movies—but in that breath-stopping, real kind of way. Like looking at someone who sees you seeing them, and doesn’t look away. Her gaze was dark and direct, pupils blown wide, and the corner of her mouth curled like she knew exactly what I was thinking. And then she said my name—just “Max”—like it meant something more now. Like it was a promise and a challenge all at once.

She reached for my hoodie and tugged it upward. I let her strip it off, wordless, too full of heat to think clearly. My pajama shirt followed, the fabric joining hers on the floor. The rush of cool air against my skin made me shiver, but Amanda’s touch was warm— grounding, alive. I wanted to melt into her palms and stay there forever. We kissed again, deeper now, tangled and breathless. Her hands fumbled with the waistband of my pants, mine sliding under the elastic of hers like we were working through muscle memory and adrenaline. The room was spinning, not from speed but from feeling. Every movement felt stretched and cinematic, like we were inside a moment that didn’t want to end.

I couldn’t believe this was happening.

She pulled back and took my hand, threading our fingers together. Without a word, she led me upstairs. I followed her in a daze, every step thudding through my chest, every stair creaking under the weight of something sacred. When we reached my room, Amanda walked ahead and climbed onto my bed without hesitation, laying back against the pillows with moonlight pouring across her stomach, her bare skin glowing soft and pale in the quiet. She looked ethereal, like she didn’t belong to this cold, dark world—but somehow, she was still choosing to be in mine. For a moment, I froze. She looked up and held out her hand. “Come here,” she said, quiet but sure.

🌙 Read the full chapter on AO3 (including the spicy NSFW part):

https://archiveofourown.org/works/61394611/chapters/156932686

⚠️ No Chloe in Chapter 1—but don’t worry. She shows up soon. And when she does… everything changes.

💬 Also, heads up: this fic is mostly angst and slow burn, not heavy smut. There's some intimacy, but it’s never explicit. Just tension, emotion, and the occasional soft meltdown.

⚡ And yep—there are 43 chapters waiting for you. Soulmates. Queer healing. Found family. Late-night tea. Real love.

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