Chapter 13 Alone Together
Micah’s POV
The weather turns before I realize it’s serious. One minute the sky is dull and heavy, the next it’s splitting open, rain slamming against the windows like it’s trying to get inside. My phone buzzes with a campus alert while I’m halfway down the hall, backpack slung over my shoulder. Severe storm warning. Students advised to remain indoors.
I stop walking. I exhale slowly and turn around.
By the time I unlock the suite door, the wind is howling like something alive. The lights flicker once, twice, then stabilize, but the sound of the rain doesn’t ease. I drop my bag by the couch and kick off my shoes, already tense. Then I see him.
Dante is sitting at the kitchen table, laptop open, sleeves rolled up, looking annoyingly calm. He glances up when the door shuts, eyes flicking briefly to the window before returning to me. “Guess we’re stuck,” he says, like it’s nothing.
“Looks like it,” I reply, keeping my voice neutral.
I move toward my room, but the thunder cracks overhead, close enough to make the walls shudder. I pause without meaning to. Dante’s chair scrapes softly as he stands.
“Storm’s bad,” he says. “Might knock the power out.”
“I’ll take my chances,” I mutter.
“You don’t like storms?”
I glance back despite myself. He’s watching me in that careful way, not smiling, not pushing. Just… there. “I don’t like being trapped,” I say.
Something shifts in his expression. Not surprise. Recognition.
“Fair,” he replies.
I retreat into my room and shut the door, but the quiet doesn’t come. Rain pounds the building relentlessly, wind rattling the windows, thunder rolling so close it feels personal. I sit on my bed, elbows on my knees, breathing too fast for no reason.
A knock sounds.
Not loud. Not demanding. Just there.
“Micah,” Dante says through the door. “Power’s flickering. You might want to come out here.”
“I’m fine.”
Another crack of thunder punctuates my lie. The lights blink again, longer this time.
“I made tea,” he adds.
I close my eyes. I count to five. Then I open the door.
The living room is dimmer now, lights humming uncertainly. Dante has set two mugs on the counter, steam curling upward. He doesn’t look at me right away, which somehow makes it worse.
“You didn’t have to,” I say.
“I know,” he replies. “I wanted to.”
I take the mug anyway.
We sit on opposite ends of the couch, space between us wide but charged. The storm fills it, noise pressing in from all sides. I sip the tea and immediately regret it, it’s hot, grounding, real. Dante watches me over the rim of his mug, eyes steady.
“You’ve been avoiding me,” he says.
I stiffen. “I’ve been busy.”
“With me,” he replies softly.
I look at him then. “You’re not entitled to my attention.”
A pause. Thunder rolls again, long and low.
“No,” he agrees. “I’m not.”
That answer throws me more than anything else. I look away, fingers tightening around the mug.
The power goes out.
The room plunges into shadow, lit only by flashes of lightning through the windows. I swear under my breath as Dante sets his mug down carefully.
“Stay there,” he says.
“I’m not moving,” I snap, though my heart is racing.
He laughs quietly, not mocking, just… warm. “Good.”
He lights a small lamp on the table, battery powered, softening the dark. When he sits back down, he’s closer now. Not touching. Just closer.
“I don’t like how you look at me,” I say suddenly.
He turns his head. “How do I look at you?”
“Like you’re waiting,” I reply. “Like I owe you something.”
He considers that. “Maybe I’m just paying attention.”
“Why?”
There it is. The real question.
“Because you’re interesting,” he says. “Because you’re sharp. Because you pretend you don’t notice things when you notice everything.”
My chest tightens. “You don’t know me.”
“I know enough,” he replies.
The thunder crashes again, closer than before. The windows rattle. Without thinking, I shift closer to the center of the couch.
Dante notices. Of course he does.
He doesn’t comment. He just adjusts slightly so our shoulders are almost aligned. The heat between us is unmistakable.
“Alison talked to you,” he says.
I laugh once, sharp and humorless. “That’s not a question.”
“What did she say?”
I hesitate. The storm roars on, impatient. “She warned me,” I admit.
“About?”
“You,” I say.
His jaw tightens. “And?”
“And nothing,” I snap. “I don’t need your protection.”
“I didn’t offer it,” he replies calmly.
I turn to him, frustration spilling over. “You don’t have to. You do it anyway.”
He meets my gaze, unflinching. “Only when you let me.”
The words hit harder than I expect. I look away, breath shallow.
Silence stretches between us, thick and heavy. The lamp casts soft shadows across his face, sharp lines softened just enough to make my stomach twist.
“I should go to my room,” I say.
“You can,” he answers.
I don’t move.
Another thunderclap shakes the building, and this time I flinch. Dante’s hand lifts instinctively, then stops midair. He looks at me, searching.
“Are you okay?” he asks quietly.
I nod, though my pulse says otherwise.
His hand lowers, to the couch. Close. Too close.
Lightning flashes, and for a split second, everything is too bright, too sharp. When the darkness settles again, his fingers brush mine.
It’s barely anything. A graze. An accident.
My breath catches.
I freeze.
Dante stills instantly, like he’s aware of every molecule of space between us. He looks down at our hands, then up at my face.
“Micah,” he says softly.
I don’t pull away. I can’t.
The storm howls outside, rain pounding, thunder cracking, but all I can hear is my own heartbeat. His fingers remain where they are, warm, steady, waiting.
And I don’t know if I want him to move or if I’m terrified that he won’t.