The City Fell Quiet [STILL FLASHBACK]

The City Fell Quiet [STILL FLASHBACK]
New York nights have their own soundtrack. The rumble of the subway in the distance, impatient horns blaring, and sometimes, like right now, my off-key singing drifting into the air as I stood in front of the tiny ice cream shop next to my apartment building.
“Say it out loud,” I hummed, following the lyrics to my own version of Bella’s Lullaby. “Say it…” 
“Vampire,” I whispered, then laughed softly at myself.
The shop owner gave me a blank look as I took my cup of matcha ice cream with almond and chocolate chip toppings. Yeah, I know. Weird combo. But I’d also just dyed my hair blonde. My choices hadn’t exactly been trustworthy since yesterday.
I stepped back from the counter and turned toward the apartment entrance, only to freeze.
They were there again.
A group of guys, five or six, sprawled on the front steps like guard dogs let out of their cage. They laughed too loudly, cigarettes glowing in their hands, and one of them, wearing his cap backward, sent me a smirk that made my skin crawl.
My lips went dry.
They were always there. Friends of some student on the second floor with a so-called band or something. But they made me uncomfortable every time. The way they stared. The teasing comments. The whistles.
I gripped my ice cream tighter. For a few seconds, I just stood, not knowing if I should go forward or turn back.
I hated this.
Then I heard footsteps.
I turned my head.
Reagan.
He came out from the side of the street, expressionless, wearing a gray T-shirt and a leather jacket with the sleeves pushed up. His hair was its usual messy self, and his face..his face hadn’t changed a bit since the first time I saw him two years ago. Cold, confident, the kind of man who knew he could burn the world down and people would still like him.
He didn’t say a word. Just stood beside me, eyes fixed on the guys on the steps.
They went silent.
One by one, they looked away. Someone pretended to scroll through his phone. Another got up and slipped inside the building without a word.
Reagan reached for my hand.
His fingers were cool but steady. He didn’t ask if I was okay. He didn’t say, “Come on.”
He just started walking, pulling me with him toward the entrance.
And I followed. Because I wanted to. Because the breath I’d been holding finally began to ease. Because for the first time tonight, I didn’t feel alone.
We walked into the lobby, quiet. I was still holding my ice cream, somehow not melted even though my hands had been shaking a minute ago.
Reagan didn’t let go of my hand until we were standing outside my apartment door. And even when I pulled out my keys with my free hand, he stayed.
“I’m coming in,” he said flatly.
And I nodded. Because… I wanted him to.
Once the door closed behind us, I set the ice cream on the kitchen counter. My hand was still trembling a little. Or maybe it wasn’t my hand. Maybe it was just my heart.
I hadn’t spoken a word before he stepped closer.
Reagan stopped right in front of me, and before I could come up with anything to say, he pulled me into his arms.
His hug wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t exactly gentle either, but he was warm and firm, like a fortress nothing could break through.
My head dropped against his chest. Hard. Broad. And his scent, woodsy soap mixed with something purely Reagan, calmed me instantly.
I didn’t speak. Neither did he. His hand only moved slowly, threading through my freshly blonde hair with his fingertips.
That simple motion cracked something inside me. Not sadness. Just the unsettling realization of how good it felt.
“If you were dating me,” Reagan murmured above my head, his baritone vibrating softly, “your life would be safer. Nobody would dare catcall you, touch you, or even think about scaring you.”
I gave a little snort against his chest. “So what, you’re the human version of life insurance now?”
He chuckled, low and unmistakably Reagan. “More like a bodyguard with premium upgrades, G. Very… exclusive.”
I tipped my head back, pulling just far enough to look at his face. Then I pinched his side, hard.
He frowned, then laughed. “That hurt, baby.”
“Great. You’re starting to act smart,” I said flatly, though the corner of my mouth betrayed me with the smallest curve.
His eyes narrowed, a slow smile spreading across his lips, the kind that made me want to throw a pillow at his face and kiss the sharp line of his jaw in the same breath.
“Just admit it,” he said, leaning back against the kitchen wall. “You’ve fallen for me. I could see it in the way you panicked when you were standing there alone. You were hoping I’d show up, weren’t you?”
“I was hoping God would send down a thunderstorm so everyone would scatter,” I shot back as I walked toward the sofa bed. “But instead, you showed up. Kind of like a storm yourself.”
He followed at his usual unhurried pace, swiped my ice cream off the table, and took a spoonful. No permission. As always.
“Is this matcha?” He wrinkled his nose. “You really do have weird taste.”
“And you really do have the nerve to steal someone else’s food without shame.”
“Only because you always finish it too fast. I’m saving you from diabetes.”
I didn’t bother replying. I just tossed a small pillow at him before turning back to pull open the sofa bed.
Reagan had stayed over a handful of times since we met. My tiny two-bedroom flat was familiar territory to him by now. The sofa bed in the living room was his so-called favorite spot, or more accurately, the place he claimed as “Reagan’s headquarters” the first night he crashed here and declared my pillows better than his own.
I rolled out the blanket and sat down. He stretched out beside me, head propped on the edge of the pillow, watching me with an expression that was far too calm.
“I’m staying tonight,” he said quietly.
“Yeah, I figured,” I answered. “You already raided my ice cream. That’s universal code for ‘I’m not leaving.’”
He laughed, but it faded quickly. His hand lifted, tugging me down effortlessly, urging me to lie beside him.
I didn’t resist. Maybe because my body was tired. Maybe because some hidden part of me craved that strange calm I only ever felt when Reagan was close.
So I lay down, my back to him. His chest was warm against me, his right arm slipping around my waist, pulling me closer. His breath fanned against the back of my ear. Slow, steady, even.
We stayed like that for a while. The only sounds were the old AC and the city’s lullaby drifting in through the window.
On the little TV in front of us, the Twilight menu popped up automatically from where I’d left it last time. Without asking, Reagan grabbed the remote and hit play.
“Again?” he muttered, lazy.
“I like Twilight,” I said simply.
“I know.” His face dipped closer to my neck. “But you like me more than Edward, don’t you?”
I didn’t answer.
And because I didn’t answer, he only chuckled… and held me tighter.