*+*After the lights *+*

|5| {Storms Inside and Out}

The rain began as a whisper, then built into a furious drumming against the café's wide windows. Forks of lightning cracked the sky, casting brief flashes of silver across the wooden tables. Inside, the rich smell of coffee lingered in the air, mingling with the faint hum of the espresso machine.

Mariana frowned at the glass door, arms crossed. "That's not a storm—it's a siege. No one's getting home in this."

"Sleepover!" Lake declared, already tugging her notebook from her bag. Her dark eyes sparkled despite the rumble of thunder. "This is prime inspiration weather."

Rosa shook her head with a soft smile, smoothing Sofia's curls as the little girl pressed her nose to the foggy glass. "Only you would get excited about being stuck."

Sofia grinned at her mother, then turned to the others. "Does this mean we can have hot chocolate and stay up late?"

James chuckled. "You drive a hard bargain, princesa."

He caught Aiden's faint smile at Sofia's boldness, but it didn't linger. Aiden's shoulders were slightly hunched, his hands tucked in his sleeves. James's instinct was to lean in, close the distance—but after their fight over the photo, he forced himself to hold back. He promised balance. He promised patience.
They gathered around two pushed-together tables, mugs steaming before them. Candles flickered when the lights threatened to die, shadows dancing along the brick walls. The storm outside made the café feel like a ship caught in waves, but inside, there was warmth—a cocoon against the world.

Lake tapped her pencil against her notebook. "Okay, new game. Everyone shares one storm they've been through in life. Literal or metaphorical. I'll start writing down the best lines."

"Lake," Mariana warned, smirking. "Don't exploit our trauma for your book."

Lake winked. "Hey, it's art."
Rosa went first, her voice even but quiet. "I was seventeen when I got pregnant. My parents told me I had to leave—that I was a disappointment." She glanced at Sofia, now dozing against her side with hot chocolate still clutched in tiny hands. Her expression softened. "I was scared. But then I had her, and... she was light. My storm turned into something worth weathering."

James felt his throat tighten. He admired the steadiness in Rosa's tone, how she didn't flinch from her truth.

Lake followed, her voice a little shakier. "When I was sixteen, I realized my parents weren't going to stop controlling every part of my life. So I left. It was terrifying. And sometimes, I still feel like I'm free-falling. But Rosa caught me. Every time. She became... family."

Rosa's arm slid around Lake's shoulders in quiet affirmation.

A hush fell before Aiden spoke. His thumb traced the rim of his mug. "My storm was transition. Not the process itself—I knew who I was. But afterward... the scars." His hand ghosted toward his chest, then fell back to the table. "Sometimes I look in the mirror and flinch. Not because I regret it. Never that. But because I wonder if anyone else will see me as whole."

The table went still. James's chest ached. He wanted to reach across, to pull Aiden into his arms, but he bit down the urge. This moment wasn't about him swooping in—it was about Aiden being heard.

It was Rosa who spoke, her voice firm and gentle at once. "Scars aren't flaws, Aiden. They're proof you survived. Proof you chose yourself."

Aiden's eyes flickered toward her, gratitude unspoken but clear.

Finally, James drew in a breath. "My storm was being invisible. Growing up, I was always the background kid—the one no one clapped for, no one asked about. I thought if I shouted loud enough, posted enough, maybe I'd finally be worth seeing. And for a while, it worked. But now..." His gaze slid toward Aiden, softening. "...I'm starting to realize being seen by one person who matters is better than a million strangers online."

Their eyes met across the table. Not long, not lingering, but enough to send something warm flickering through Aiden's chest.

The storm outside raged, but inside, it felt like the walls had closed in with comfort instead of confinement. The stories hadn't erased their pain, but they had woven threads between them—different storms, but the same resilience.

Even Sofia stirred sleepily, mumbling, "Uncle James talks too much," before slumping back into Rosa's lap.

The group burst into laughter, the sound bouncing warmly against the café walls. Even Aiden laughed, shoulders shaking, and James tucked the sound into his heart like a treasure.

Lake scribbled in her notebook, smirking. "This is gold."Hours later, when blankets had been spread out and the café hummed with softer silence, Aiden stood by the rain-streaked window. His reflection stared back at him, fractured by the glass, softened by candlelight.

James approached quietly, no bravado, no loud gestures. Just him. He kept a respectful distance before murmuring, "You were brave tonight."

Aiden shook his head. "I didn't feel brave. Just... exposed."

James reached out, palm open, waiting. When Aiden's hand slid into his, it felt like trust being rebuilt piece by fragile piece.

"Exposed doesn't mean weak," James whispered. His thumb brushed slow circles over Aiden's knuckles. "Scars, silence, doubts—you're still stronger than any storm. And you're beautiful. To me, you always will be."

Aiden let out a long breath, the kind that released more than air. Then, leaning gently into James's side, he rested his head against his shoulder.

No cameras. No audience. Just the storm outside, their chosen family asleep around them, and the fragile, precious balance they were still learning to hold.