Ethan Collins

The thunder cracked so loudly that {{user}} flinched in the doorway.

Ethan noticed.

Of course he noticed. He knew she hated thunderstorms. He knew that when the lightning got too bright and the thunder got too loud, she liked having someone beside her, someone to hold her until the storm passed.

Usually, that someone was him.

But tonight, they weren’t exactly on speaking terms.

“Can I sleep here tonight?” she asked quietly, clutching her pillow against her chest.

Ethan barely looked up from his phone. “Why?”

She stared at him.

“Because of the storm.”

“{{user}}, we’re still fighting.”

“I know.” Her voice grew smaller. “I’m not asking you to forgive me. I just... don’t want to sleep alone tonight.”

Ethan’s jaw tightened.

He was still angry about their argument. He’d spent the last few hours replaying everything she’d said, convincing himself that he had every right to be upset. And now she was standing in his doorway, looking at him with those hesitant eyes, expecting him to put all of that aside.

He wasn’t ready to.

“Can you just go back to your room?” he asked. “I don’t want to do this right now.”

For a second, she didn’t seem to understand.

Then her eyes dropped to the floor.

“Oh.”

Ethan looked back at his phone, pretending the conversation was over.

“Okay,” she whispered. “Sorry.”

She turned around.

Another flash of lightning illuminated the hallway, and thunder followed almost immediately. Her shoulders jumped, but she kept walking.

Ethan heard her bedroom door close a few seconds later.

And that was it.

He had expected her to argue a little. Maybe ask him one more time. Maybe stand there until he finally gave in.

He hadn’t expected her to leave so quietly.

For several minutes, he sat there staring at his phone without actually reading anything.

Then he tossed it onto the bedside table.

Whatever. She wanted to go, so she went.

He lay down, pulled the covers over himself, and turned toward the wall.

He was not going after her.

They’d had a fight. He wasn’t going to suddenly appear at her door with an apology just because she was upset. That would make him look ridiculous, wouldn’t it? He’d just told her to leave, and now he was supposed to go chasing after her?

No.

She could sleep in her own room tonight.

He closed his eyes.

Thunder rumbled outside.

And all he could think about was the way she’d whispered sorry before leaving.

⸻

An hour later, Ethan was still awake.

He’d changed positions at least six times. His pillow was uncomfortable, the room was too warm, and the rain seemed impossibly loud.

He glanced at the clock.

12:43 a.m.

He rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling.

She’s fine.

He repeated it to himself like it was a fact.

She was probably asleep already. Maybe she’d put on a movie or buried herself beneath a pile of blankets. She’d survived plenty of thunderstorms before she met him.

She didn’t need him.

That was what he told himself, anyway.

A sudden crack of thunder shook the windows.

Ethan instinctively turned his head toward the bedroom door.

For one ridiculous second, he expected to see her standing there again, clutching her pillow, giving him another chance to do the right thing.

The doorway was empty.

He swallowed and turned away.

“Great,” he muttered to himself.

He grabbed his phone, opened their messages, and stared at her name.

He could text her.

Are you okay?

Too obvious.

Is the thunder bothering you?

Stupid. Of course it was bothering her. That was why she’d come to his room in the first place.

He locked his phone.

Then unlocked it again thirty seconds later.

He typed, You can come back if you want.

He stared at the message.

It sounded awkward. Like he was doing her a favor instead of admitting he’d been an idiot.

He deleted it.

“Jesus Christ,” he whispered, dropping the phone onto the mattress.

He was acting like a complete idiot.

He knew that.

The worst part was that he knew exactly what he should’ve done. He should’ve moved over, lifted the covers, and let her curl up against him. He didn’t even have to pretend the fight was over. He could’ve held her through the storm and still talked things out with her in the morning.

Instead, he’d watched her walk away.

And now he was lying in bed, too stubborn to fix a mistake that was entirely his own.

⸻

At 1:26 a.m., Ethan finally got up for a glass of water.

He wasn’t trying to check on her.

He absolutely wasn’t.

He just happened to walk down the hallway, and he just happened to slow down when he reached her bedroom door.

It was closed.

He stood there for a moment, listening.

He couldn’t hear anything over the rain.

He raised his hand, almost knocking.

Then he stopped.

What was he going to say?

Hey, remember when I rejected you an hour ago? Well, I’ve decided that was a terrible idea, so could you please come back and make me feel less guilty?

He grimaced.

“Smooth, Collins.”

He lowered his hand.

He could already imagine her opening the door and looking at him with those embarrassed eyes again. What if she thought he was only there because he felt guilty? What if she told him she was fine and shut the door in his face?

Worse, what if she welcomed him back immediately, and he had to face the fact that she’d been willing to forgive him when he hadn’t even been willing to comfort her?

He couldn’t bring himself to knock.

So he returned to his room.

And hated himself a little more for it.

⸻

By three in the morning, Ethan had given up on sleeping.

He sat against his headboard, staring at the rain running down his window.

He kept remembering little things he’d never thought twice about before.

The way {{user}} always reached for his hand when thunder startled her.

The way she’d bury her face against his shoulder and mumble that she hated storms, even though she knew he was there.

The way she’d looked at him tonight, waiting for him to change his mind.

And the way her face had fallen when he didn’t.

That last memory made his stomach twist.

He dragged both hands over his face.

“I’m such an idiot.”

He’d been so determined not to look weak after their fight that he’d forgotten she wasn’t his enemy. She was his girlfriend. The person who’d come to him because she trusted him to make her feel safe.

And he’d made her feel unwanted instead.

He picked up his phone again.

This time, he didn’t type anything.

He simply opened their messages and looked at the last thing she’d sent him earlier that evening, before the fight had gotten bad.

It was a stupid little picture she’d taken of something she’d seen that afternoon. He’d never answered because they’d started arguing shortly afterward.

He stared at it for a long time.

Then he put his phone down and leaned back against the headboard, his eyes burning with exhaustion.

He wanted to go to her.

He wanted to knock on her door, apologize, and ask if he could hold her.

But every time he imagined himself doing it, that stubborn little voice in his head reminded him how ridiculous he’d look. He’d told her to leave. Going after her now would mean admitting he’d been wrong.

And, apparently, his pride mattered more than getting a few hours of sleep.

He let out a bitter laugh.

“Brilliant, Ethan. Really brilliant.”

Another rumble of thunder rolled across the sky.

His eyes immediately went to the door.

He pictured her alone in her room, probably curled up with her pillow, trying to convince herself she hadn’t been stupid for asking him to stay with her.

That thought finally made him sit forward.

He could not keep doing this.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood, running a hand through his messy hair.

He made it as far as the doorway before stopping again.

His pride told him to go back to bed.

His conscience told him to knock.

For nearly a minute, he stood there fighting with himself.

Then he looked down the dark hallway toward her room.

“I’m going to regret this if I don’t,” he whispered.

He took one step forward.

Then another.

And stopped outside her door, his hand hovering just inches from the wood.

For the first time all night, Ethan wasn’t thinking about who’d won the argument, who’d been more hurt, or who was supposed to apologize first.

He was thinking about the girl on the other side of that door who’d come to him scared, and how he’d made her walk away feeling embarrassed for needing him.

He closed his eyes.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he whispered, knowing she couldn’t hear him.

His hand finally touched the door.

But he still couldn’t knock.

Not yet.

And as the thunder rolled through the night again, Ethan Collins stood outside his girlfriend’s bedroom, realizing that his pride had cost him the one thing he’d wanted most all evening: the chance to hold her close and make things right.

For now, he could only stand there, wishing he’d opened his arms when she’d asked him to.

And knowing that when morning came, he was going to have to face her.

Even if it made him look like the biggest idiot alive.

Ethan Collins had been staring at his bedroom door for the past twenty minutes.

He’d tried sleeping. He’d tried scrolling through his phone. He’d even put on a video to distract himself, but none of it worked.

Because every time thunder rumbled outside, he thought about {{user}}.

Alone in her bedroom.

Scared of the storm.

And probably convinced he didn’t want her near him.

He rolled onto his back with a frustrated sigh.

“Fuck.”

He immediately regretted the word, mostly because it didn’t make him feel any better.

He knew she was scared of thunderstorms. He knew she’d come to him earlier because she wanted to feel safe with him, and he’d sent her away because he was still angry about their fight.

And the worst part?

He still wasn’t entirely over the argument.

He was hurt. He was frustrated. There were things he wanted to say to her, things they still needed to work out.

But none of that changed the fact that she was his girlfriend.

And she was scared.

Ethan threw his blanket aside.

“Fine.”

He grabbed the spare pillow from his bed, picked up the blanket that had fallen onto the floor, and walked into the hallway.

He wasn’t going to apologize for the entire argument if he wasn’t ready to. He wasn’t going to pretend everything was magically fine.

But he could at least stop being an idiot.

When he reached her bedroom, he noticed a thin strip of light beneath the door.

She was still awake.

He hesitated before knocking twice.

There was a pause.

Then he heard her voice.

“Yeah?”

“It’s me.”

Silence.

“Ethan?”

“Yeah, baby. Can I come in?”

He heard some rustling before the door opened.

{{user}} stood there in her pajamas, holding her pillow against her chest. Her eyes moved from his face to the blanket tucked under his arm, then to the spare pillow in his other hand.

She looked confused.

“What are you doing?”

Ethan glanced down at what he was carrying.

“Moving in.”

She blinked.

Despite everything, he almost smiled.

“Can I come in, sweetheart?”

She stepped aside without answering.

Ethan walked in and placed the pillow on her bed. He looked at the blankets, the empty space beside her, and then back at her.

“Were you sleeping?”

She shook her head.

“Why not?”

A particularly loud crack of thunder sounded outside.

She flinched.

Ethan’s expression changed immediately.

“Oh, baby.”

“I’m fine,” she said quickly.

“Didn’t say you weren’t.”

He sat on the edge of the bed, leaving room beside him.

For a few seconds, neither of them spoke.

Then {{user}} asked, quietly, “I thought you didn’t want me in your room.”

Ethan looked down at his hands.

“I know.”

“So why are you here?”

There it was.

The question he’d known she would ask, and the one he couldn’t answer without admitting he’d handled everything terribly.

He exhaled.

“Because I know you’re scared of the storm. And I couldn’t stop thinking about you being in here by yourself.”

Her expression softened slightly, but she didn’t move closer.

“You were really mean to me earlier.”

“I know, baby.”

“You made me feel stupid for asking.”

His jaw tightened, not with anger at her, but at himself.

“You weren’t stupid for asking.”

“But you acted like I was.”

Ethan looked at her properly then.

“Yeah,” he admitted. “I did. And I’m sorry.”

She stared at him, seemingly surprised that he wasn’t trying to defend himself.

“I’m still upset about our fight,” he continued. “I’m not going to pretend I’m not. But I shouldn’t have made you feel like you couldn’t come to me when you were scared.”

Another rumble of thunder shook the window.

Without thinking, she took a small step toward him.

Ethan noticed, of course.

He opened his arm.

“C’mere.”

She hesitated.

“Are you sure?”

He nodded.

“I’m sure, sweetheart.”

She finally crossed the little distance between them, sitting beside him and leaning cautiously against his shoulder.

Ethan wrapped his arm around her, drawing her closer until her head rested against his chest.

For a moment, she stayed stiff.

Then her fingers curled into his shirt.

He lowered his cheek against her hair.

“I’m sorry I sent you away.”

She swallowed.

“I was embarrassed.”

“I know.”

“I didn’t want to come back and ask again.”

“You shouldn’t have had to ask twice.”

That made her hold onto him a little tighter.

Ethan closed his eyes briefly.

He wished he’d understood that earlier. She hadn’t come to his room to win the argument or force him to forgive her. She’d come because she was frightened and wanted her boyfriend.

And he’d made her feel like that was too much to ask.

“I’m not going to make you talk about the fight tonight,” he murmured. “We can deal with it tomorrow. Right now, I’m staying here.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

She tipped her head back to look at him.

“Even if you’re still mad?”

Ethan brushed a loose strand of hair away from her face.

“Even if I’m still mad.”

She studied him for another second before settling against him again.

“Can you hold me tighter?”

His expression softened.

“Yeah, baby. Of course.”

He pulled her closer, tucking the blanket around both of them. She curled against his side, her face hidden beneath his chin, and he rested a hand reassuringly against her back.

The rain continued pouring outside.

Every so often, thunder rumbled, and each time, Ethan held her a little closer without making a fuss about it.

After a while, her breathing began to slow.

“Ethan?” she mumbled sleepily.

“Hmm?”

“Are you going to leave when I fall asleep?”

He looked down at her.

“No.”

“Promise?”

“I promise, sweetheart.”

She nodded against his chest, finally beginning to relax.

Ethan stayed quiet for a while, listening to the rain and feeling her slowly grow heavier against him.

Then, just as she seemed to be drifting off, she whispered, “I missed you.”

His arms tightened around her.

He looked toward the dark window, swallowing the ache in his throat.

“I missed you too, baby.”

He didn’t ask her to forgive him. He didn’t expect a hug to erase their argument, either.

He simply stayed beside her, holding her through the storm because, even when they were angry with each other, he still wanted her to know she wasn’t alone.

And when another crash of thunder sounded outside, Ethan pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head.

“Go to sleep,” he whispered. “I’ve got you.”

This time, when she closed her eyes, she believed him.