The sky crackles overhead, as they find themselves in a secluded room in the back of the building. Their room, isolated from the conferences that would always tear them apart, over and over. The only light shines from the open doorway, stark yellow feebly spreading across the floor. She has no need to look at the clock in order to know how late it is, but she's in no hurry to get home anyhow. Her mind—half focused on the black clouds looming out the window, half trying desperately to not let the figure in front of her stir her heart too much—falls to a buzz.
Unconsciously, she hums a bit.
Unconsciously, she combs slender fingers through mussed platinum-blond hair.
Unconsciously, as untamed sobs pierce the ominous silence, she whispers to the large, huddled frame:
"It's not too late to change."