The storm isn't subsiding.

They read in silence for the next hour, only the soft sounds of tea being sipped and turned pages disturbing the quiet. At some point, they move closer, and her right arm presses up against the half empty sleeve hiding the one he lost.

He doesn't seem to mind, and she's content to lean against him. The contact is nice—a comfort after everything she experienced the night he saved her.

She's missed it.

Turning her attention back to the book, she reaches to turn the page at the same time he does.

Their fingers brush.