STRINGS BETWEEN US

CHAPTER TWO: OF DRAMATIC STORMS, NAMES CLAIMED IN THE DARK, AND

I raised an eyebrow. "Khaizer. Dylan."

He groaned, letting his head fall back dramatically. "There it is. The classroom tone."

"Well, sometimes you act like you're in a classroom."

He pointed at me, mock offended. "Exactly why I need therapy."

After helping me settle in, he stood by the door, bag slung over one shoulder.

"I'm heading out."

"Right. Thanks," I muttered, not looking at him.

"Lock the doors," he said, flashing a lazy salute.

As if I couldn't take care of myself. Please. But the second the door clicked shut, the quiet got louder. Too quiet. Too hollow.

I dropped onto the couch; arms crossed like armor. I didn't need him. I didn't need anyone.

I've survived worse.

But when the wind started howling, like whispers clawing at the windows, I knew. I wasn't sleeping tonight. The branches scratched the roof like they were owed something.

Then, the sky cracked open. Not the cute thunder in romcoms. This one had drama. Spotlight. Stage presence.

I rolled my eyes and threw the blanket over my head. I was fine. Totally not scared. Definitely not gripping the blanket like it owed me something.

Then the floor shook.

Yup. Nope. I jumped up, supposedly for water. Totally not for emotional survival.

The kitchen was darker than I remembered. Shadows stretched across the walls. Lightning flashed, quick, sharp, almost rude.

And then I heard it. A voice. Muffled. Coming from the back.

I crept closer. Yeah, I know. Cliché horror film energy.
Apparently, I was that girl now.

And there he was. Khaizer. Freaking. Dylan. Standing at the backdoor, hoodie slightly damp, phone to his ear.

He never left?

Before I could think, thunder roared again, louder, angrier. And then I moved. No hesitation. Next thing I knew, I was clinging to his back. His shirt was cold. I was colder. But I didn't let go.

He froze. Turned. "Riyee?"

I didn't meet his eyes. "This storm is so dramatic, okay? Tell the sky to chill."

He didn't laugh. He just turned fully to face me. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," I said. Lie. Obviously.

He didn't push it.

Next thing I knew, we were on the couch. Side by side. Under one blanket. Storm still raging outside.

But the silence? It felt... warm. I glanced down. My hands were shaking a little. He noticed. Quietly took the glass from my grip. Set it down. Pulled the blanket closer around us.

His arm barely brushed mine. And I hated that I noticed.

I looked at him. He was staring straight ahead, jaw tight like he had something to say but didn't know if he should.

"You didn't leave," I whispered.

He looked at me. "I didn't." Simple. Direct.

And somehow, enough.

Khaizer Dylan's POV

Storms don't scare me. I'm used to them. The dark. The noise. The chaos. I was raised inside it. But this night felt different. Because she was in the middle of it.

 I was by the backdoor, half-wet from calling my mom. I told myself I stayed to be responsible. I told myself I stayed in case she forgot to lock the windows. But maybe I just didn't want her to wake up alone in the storm.

Then I felt it. A hug. No warning. No permission. Just her, cold and shaking, gripping my shirt like the world might fall apart if she let go. I didn't move right away. But she didn't let go.

Maybe that was her version of saying: stay. please.

So I turned around. Faced her.

"This storm is too dramatic, okay? Tell the sky to chill."

She wouldn't meet my eyes. I didn't laugh. I just stayed.

Later, we sat on the couch. Blanket. Thunder. Stillness. But it wasn't hollow silence. It felt like peace. She trembled, barely. I moved just slightly closer. She didn't move away. That was enough.

Morning came.

She walked into the kitchen, messy hair, sleepy eyes, same fire tucked beneath quiet.

"You're up," I said. "Hot chocolate?"

She nodded. She didn't look away when I handed her the mug. She didn't flinch when our fingers brushed. Progress, I guess.

"You okay now?"

She sipped too fast. Probably choked. But acted like nothing happened.

"I'm fine," she said. I didn't call her out. I just sat beside her again. Same spot. Same distance. Same quiet.

"By the way," she said, kind of awkward, "is it okay if I call you KD?"

I blinked. "KD?"

"Yeah. 'Khaizer Dylan' sounds like a knight in a fantasy novel with a sword and a chosen destiny."

I laughed. The first real one in days.

"And 'Riyee' sounds like a runaway princess. So that fits."

She looked at me over her mug.

"Exactly. KD and Riyee. Princess and knight. But, you know... simpler."

There it was again. Softness beneath the sass. Like she was handing me something fragile and pretending it wasn't.

Before I could reply, she added. "And for the record, I own that nickname."

I raised an eyebrow. "You what?"

"Trademarked. Copyrighted. I made it up effortlessly. So no one else gets to use it but me."

Of course she said that. 

Of course she did. 

But I didn't argue. If Riyee wanted to pretend that nothing mattered while quietly building a world where everything did, fine. I'd stay in that world. As long as she lets me.

She gave me a name. Like I was something worth naming. Maybe that's what we were, two people trying to rename the ruins.

And I think, I'd let her do it again.