Suddenly engulfed in a wall of water, Charlie would've normally welcomed the weather she found comforting if not for the materials she was carrying that she did not fancy getting damaged. Film canisters and handwritten notes from her latest investigation for an upcoming article. Desperate to find sanctuary for the duration of the storm, the woman quickened her pace to try and find a dryer spot. "Oh I am being punished," she murmured to herself as she lifted her head to see who was speaking to her and being met with that unmistakeable smirk. Water beaded off of her fringe into her eyes as she begrudgingly sheltered herself under the awning with the other. "You sure you can handle it for so long? I figured you loved the sound of your voice so much," she commented, looking around and realizing very quickly that there was a slim chance of her finding someplace else to wait it out without risking further damage of her precious goods, even if most of them were tucked away in her bag. "You know, I do find you far more attractive when you speak less. Any chance you'll do me such a kindness in charming me that way?" she directed back towards him.
“Harsh. I brave the storm for the pleasure of your company and the first thing you do is insult me.” His voice was smooth, lazy with amusement. “Still, if you’re so convinced I’m better quiet, maybe I’ll give you what you want. For once. Just don’t act surprised when you find yourself missing the sound of my voice.”
He leaned against the wall beside her, folding his arms like he wasn’t dripping wet, like the storm was nothing. The silence stretched; a deliberate act on his part, intense and poignant. He didn’t look away. If anything, his gaze lingered longer, unblinking, the kind of steady contact that made it clear he wasn’t moving first, that he was taking her at her word and also testing how long they would hold. A faint twitch of a smirk ghosted over his mouth as he watched her, and he shifted slowly, running a hand through his wet hair, droplets that had caught the strands scattering at the action. His arm brushed hers in a manner that made it seem like it could have happened accidentally but then it remained there, not enough to crowd, but more than enough to be felt. Intentional physicality. Impossible to ignore.
Finally, when the weight of it pressed hardest, he let a soft murmur slip out, low and languid, and threaded with challenge. “Careful what you wish for… silence can be far louder when you notice who’s sharing it.”















