His Ring Her Rules

The wind was the first.

A low howl sounded like a warning, rattling against the penthouse windows. The flurry followed, with white dots dancing as if they had something to prove.

Holding a warm mug of chocolate, I stood in the living room and watched as the city disappeared behind a snowy curtain. It had lost all of its typical assurance, including the blaring horns, the rushed suits, and the haze of cab lights. consumed in its entirety by winter.

Still, I was in my jammies. Fuzzy socks that had seen better days and an oversized hoodie that may have previously belonged to Ethan. You were forced to remain motionless by the world on that particular day. I used to despise those kind.

However, everything felt strangely calm now.

Ethan commented, "The storm is worse than they anticipated," as he entered the room with his hair unkempt and his sleeves rolled up, as if he had been battling the Wi-Fi router.

"Really?" I inquired. "And here I was anticipating a blizzard while running errands."

His mouth quirked. "Smart. Sarcasm. traditional survival strategy.

I held out my mug to him. Do you want some cocoa? It appears that you need it more than I do.

After a moment of hesitation, he took it, his fingers lingering on mine for a moment longer than was required.

"Thanks," he said, voice softer than usual. "I haven't had cocoa since… I don't know. Childhood?"

I shrugged and said, "Well, everything has its first time." Again."

After a single flicker, the power steadied. However, the warning was obvious. Don't leave the building. No boardrooms. No interviews. No skillfully constructed distance.

Only the two of us. stuck within a glass tower. There was a strange new rhythm between us, regardless of the weather.

I replied as I sat down on the L-shaped couch and pulled a blanket over my knees, "I started rearranging the nursery again." "Don't ask me why. It's a nesting issue, in my opinion.

With a respectable two feet between us, Ethan joined me. "Have you not touched the giraffe lamp?"

I furrowed my brow. "Do you recall the giraffe lamp?"

He appeared nearly insulted. It was the sole personality-containing item there. I enjoyed it.

I really did laugh. We were both amazed at how warm it was.

For a while, we sipped chocolate in cozy calm while observing flakes adhere to the window like timid fingerprints.

"It's strange," I at last uttered. "I feared I would go crazy being cooped up indoors."

"And?"

"And I don't mind it at all."

One more pause. Then a silence: "Neither am I."

He didn't rehearse or cut his voice. Just be honest.

He was observing me when I turned to look at him, but he wasn't evaluating or analyzing. He seemed to be seeing more.

He moved just enough to pull the blanket back up for me after it slipped.

He held on to his hand.

Even though it was barely perceptible, the sound of his arm against mine was somehow louder than the blizzard outside.

No kisses. No sweeping motions. There were only two people sitting on a couch, drinking cocoa, and their silence spoke louder than words could.

And for some reason, that felt closer than anything we had discussed.