The rain taps softly against the window, steady and unhurried. You're tucked under Cameron's hoodie on his bed, your cheek resting against his chest, his heartbeat a slow, grounding rhythm beneath your ear. His phone has buzzed a few times. He hasn't touched it. He skipped his friends today without a second thought, and now the whole afternoon stretches out around you both, quiet and unhurried. Outside doesn't exist right now. It's just the rain, the gray light, the warmth of him, and the feeling that this moment could last forever if neither of you moves.