#wangyixiang

| genre: fluff, no dialogue, fairly short, nicholas x gn!reader

| now playing: house song : searows (recommend for reading, totally okay if u don’t want to!)

✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ … ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ … ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿

rain taps softly against the windows like fingertips drumming a lullaby against glass, steady and gentle, the kind of rain that turns the whole world blurry and distant. outside, the streets are soaked in silver, streetlights melting into puddles like watercolor paint left out in the storm. but inside, everything glows warm. the fireplace crackles quietly in the corner, spilling gold across the room while nicholas sits beside it with his guitar resting against his lap, fingers brushing over the strings so delicately it almost looks like he’s afraid to break the music. each note drifts through the air like smoke, curling around your ribs, settling deep inside you. his voice is soft and low, warm as cinnamon and amber, carrying the kind of tenderness that makes your heart feel unbearably full. you sit there listening, chin resting against your knees, completely lost in him. in the way his pale hair falls messily into his eyes like moonlight tangled in silk. in the sleepy smile ghosting across his lips whenever he glances your way. in the tiny crease between his brows when he focuses on a chord for too long. even the rain seems quieter when he sings, as if the storm itself stopped just to listen. and suddenly every memory comes rushing back all at once. rainy bus rides with your shoulders pressed together. his hand covering yours when it was cold. late night conversations that stretched until morning painted itself across the sky. the sound of his laughter mixing with thunder outside. every little moment collecting inside your chest like pressed flowers tucked between the pages of a book. loving him feels like coming home after wandering through a storm for too long. the world outside keeps spinning endlessly, loud and hurried and cruel sometimes, but here, in this tiny pocket of warmth beside him, time softens around the edges. it slows until all you can hear is the rain against the windows, the fire crackling low, and nicholas singing like he’s stitching every broken part of you back together with his voice. he looks up then, eyes half lidded and glowing gold beneath the firelight, smiling at you so gently it feels like being wrapped in a blanket fresh from the dryer. and in that moment, with the rain humming outside and his music filling every corner of the room, you realize he has become your safe place in the quietest, most dangerous way possible. like no matter how hard the storm gets, you would always find your way back to him