EPISODE 5
1324 Words
(Liam’s POV)
It started with a flicker.
The kind of flicker that makes you pause mid-sentence and glance at the bulb like it personally offended you.
Then came the sound , a soft electrical pop and suddenly, London went black.
The hum of the fridge died. The light from the street outside vanished. Even the city seemed to stop breathing.
I sat still on the couch, laptop dead, phone flickering to 1%. The silence pressed in like a weight. Then...
“Liam!”
Her voice came from the hall, half panicked, half furious. Alexandria.
I stood, already feeling my chest tighten in that strange mix of irritation and something warmer. “I’m here!”
“Why is it dark?”
I blinked. “Because the power’s out.”
“No s**t, Sherlock,” she snapped, voice somewhere between rooms. “I mean why?”
“National grid issues?” I offered.
“Brilliant. So we’re going to die cold and hungry.”
I sighed, walking toward the sound of her voice. “You’ve survived twenty-four years of civilization. You can manage a few hours without Netflix.”
“I can’t even find my phone, oh wait, I think I stepped on it ,damn it!”
Her voice was closer now, and before I could reply, something collided with my chest.
“Alex...”
“Why are you standing in the dark like a serial killer?” she hissed.
“Because I live here?”
Her hands were pressed against me, fingers curling into my shirt. I could feel the faint tremor in them. She wasn’t just annoyed. She was scared.
“I hate pitch dark,” she muttered. “Like, hate it.”
Without thinking, I reached for her wrist. “Come on.”
“Where?”
“Flashlight in the drawer.”
Her steps followed mine hesitantly, her cute fingers gripping the sleeves of my shirt earnestly, cute? and when I opened the drawer by feel, the phone torch flared between us. Her face appeared messy bun, wide eyes, lips pressed tight.
“Better?” I asked.
She nodded slowly. “A bit. You’re lucky you didn’t get punched.”
“Noted.”
For a moment, we just stood there, the silence broken only by our breathing and the faint rain outside. The flashlight cast a halo across her face she looked softer in that light, not the destructive whirlwind I usually endured.
“What?” she asked, catching me looking.
“Nothing,” I said quickly.
“Liar.”
I turned toward the counter. “We should find candles.”
“I’m not leaving this light.”
“Then follow me.”
“I already was,” she muttered under her breath, and I almost smiled.
We ended up in the living room, the faint glow of two candles flickering across the walls. I set my phone on the coffee table for extra light.
She sank onto the couch beside me, legs tucked under herself, oversized T-shirt hanging off one shoulder. “So this is cozy,” she said, voice dripping sarcasm.
“Could be worse.”
“Could it?”
“Yes. You could be stuck with someone who doesn’t know how to light a candle.”
“Ha. Ha.”
She leaned back, sighing. “So what do we do now?”
“Wait it out.”
“Boring.”
“Welcome to adulthood.”
“I am 24 and adulthood sucks .”
“You’re not wrong.”
The quiet settled again heavier this time, but not uncomfortable. She shifted closer, maybe unconsciously, her knee brushing mine. The contact sent a sharp jolt through me.
Her voice came softer now. “You didn’t tell me much about your mum.”
I looked at her, candlelight catching her eyes. “You didn’t ask.”
“I’m asking now.”
I hesitated, then said, “She was… everything loud in me. The only one who could outtalk me, outplan me, out-love me.”
“She sounds nice,” she murmured.
“She was.” I paused. “Cancer.”
Her hand brushed mine , not holding, just there. “I’m sorry.”
“I know.”
Another silence but this time it wasn’t awkward. It was warm. Familiar, almost.
She let out a nervous laugh. “This feels weird.”
“What does?”
“Us. Not arguing.”
I smirked. “Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll find a reason in five minutes.”
“Probably less.”
The lights flickered once, teasingly, then stayed off.
She glanced at the window. “If this turns into a horror movie, you’re dying first.”
“Why me?”
“You look like the type who investigates strange noises.”
“Because I’m rational?”
“Because you’re British.”
I chuckled quietly. “That’s offensive.”
“True though.”
Her smile lingered, and for a moment I forgot about the blackout, the candles, the world outside.
Her eyes were steady on mine. “You ever think maybe… this isn’t that bad?”
“What isn’t?”
“Being stuck here. With me.”
I studied her the sarcasm gone, the guard lowered just a fraction. “I don’t mind it.”
She blinked, surprised. “You don’t?”
“No.”
The air between us thickened. She leaned forward slightly maybe unconsciously, maybe not and I swear the world narrowed to the sound of her breathing.
“Liam…”
The sound of my name on her lips shouldn’t have done things to me, but it did.
Then the thunder cracked outside, a violent flash of lightning illuminating the room, and she flinched, instinctively clutching my arm.
“It’s just”
“I hate storms,” she muttered, hiding her face against my shoulder.
I froze heart hammering, her warmth pressed against me.
“Alex,” I said softly, “you’re fine.”
“I’m not moving.”
“I noticed.”
She didn’t look up, but her fingers curled tighter in my shirt.
And maybe it was the dark, or the quiet, or the way her voice trembled but I found myself lowering my head slightly, close enough to catch the faint scent of her shampoo.
My throat felt dry. “You’re shaking.”
“Because you’re warm,” she murmured. “And because I hate thunder.”
I could’ve moved. Should’ve. But I didn’t.
Instead, I stayed there her pressed against me, my arm slowly, cautiously wrapping around her.
I lifted her head , her dollish eyes stared back at mine , unintentionally my lips got close to hers and I could smell the chips she had while watching Netflix probably. I leaned in further my lips pressed against hers.
Minutes passed. The storm raged. The city slept.
And somewhere in between, something shifted , something fragile and dangerous and real, her hands reached for my collar and gripped it pulling me in we fell backwards on the sofa with her under me ,her lips wrestling against mine and my tongue pushing against hers, it was bliss , the kiss becomes more frivolous and rough . We pulled to catch our breathes as we stared at each other.
When the thunder finally softened, she stirred.
“Don’t say a word,” she muttered.
“I wasn’t going to.”
“Yes, you were. You were going to say something smug like ‘that was unexpected’”
I smiled into the dark. “Maybe.”
She sighed. “Shut up, Liam.”
“Gladly.”
She didn’t move away.
And as the candle flickered lower, I realised I didn’t want her to.
How did we end up not accommodating each other to this.
---
The lights flickered back on.
And just as she lifted her head from my shoulder, bleary, close, soft , our eyes met.
Too close.
Then the front door lock clicked.
She shrieked under me
"Who is that?"
- Writer
