Prompt: Thunder
She always thought it would happen very quickly. One day they'd be arguing and one of them would snap and they'd find themselves tangled up together against a wall or a desk or whatever surface was closest.
It doesn't happen anything like that.
It's just a normal night, the two of them hanging out at his place and watching a movie. She's had only two beers, him only four, and when it starts thunders, when the skies open and water rains down in sheets he tells her she can't drive home and so she stays. He makes her take the bed and when he brings her in an extra blanket, he smiles.
"What?" she says.
He shrugs, "Nothing, you just have something on your face."
"What?" she asks, confused because she just washed her face. She reaches up, but he moves first.
"This," he says, snapping his wrist and pulling a rose out of nowhere. The petal brushes along her cheek and she reaches up to grab it.
"Oh, thanks."
She thinks it will end there; will him backing out of the room and her holding the rose as she climbs into bed.
Then he leans forward, his hands on her face and she whispers, "Bobby," and then his mouth is on hers and the flower is being crushed between this bodies, which are pressed together so tightly she can barely breathe.
She doesn't want to.
Because this…this was exactly the way, it was supposed to happen.