Rain's POV:
The laughing just doesn't stop.
It threads through the dark like something alive—thin at first, almost distant, then louder, closer, curling around my thoughts until I can't tell whether it's real .
I turn onto my side, then my stomach, pulling the duvet tighter around me, but it only makes the sound swell.
I feel watched.
Not in the vague, nervous way people sometimes do—but in a precise, deliberate way.
As if whatever is laughing knows exactly where I am.
Knows I'm awake.
Waiting.
My body is drenched in sweat, sheets sticking to my skin.
The air feels thick, unmovable, pressing down on my chest.
I sit up abruptly, heart hammering so hard it hurts, my breath coming in shallow gasps.
Please let it stop.
I fumble blindly, shifting the duvet, trying to ground myself in something—anything—and my elbow clips the edge of the nightstand.
The glass bottle tips.
It shatters on the floor.
The sound is sharp and violent, slicing through the room, and I scream before I can stop myself.
The scream rips out of me like it's been waiting there all along.
Pain blooms in my chest, my throat raw—but when I look down, I'm not bleeding.
No glass in my skin.
Only pure , shaking fear
I throw the covers aside and bolt out of the bed, bare feet slapping against the cold floor. The hallway stretches longer than it should, shadows pooling where they don't belong.
I glance over my shoulder as I run, convinced—utterly convinced—that something is right behind me.
The ghosts of that night trail close at my heels.
The echoes.
The laughter.
"Stop," I whisper, breath breaking.
"Please stop."
I reach the opposite wing of the house and shove open the door to Danny's room.
It's pitch dark inside.
For half a second, my heart stutters—what if he isn't here?
Then I see movement.
He shifts suddenly, instinctively, and that's all it takes.
Relief hits me so hard my knees almost buckle.
I run to him, crashing into his body with so much force that we nearly tumble back onto the bed together.
"Danny," I choke, clinging to him.
"I hear them. I hea—hear them laugh. Make it stop. Please—please make it stop."
I press my palms over my ears like that might help, like I can shut the sound out if I try hard enough.
I can't see clearly in the dark, but I feel him move immediately.
His arms come around me, warm and solid, anchoring me before I can spiral any further.
"Come here, Rain," he murmurs, voice low and gentle.
He guides me into his lap, rocking me slowly, the way you would a frightened child.
The simplicity of it—undoes me completely.
I cry harder.
I bury my face against his chest, breathing him in.
His skin is warm, his chest hair tickling my cheek.
Outside the window, the world looks impossibly soft.
Snow blankets the ground, glowing faintly in the moonlight. The mountains loom quiet and still, their edges blurred by the falling white.
It's beautiful in a way that feels unreal—like a painting hung over the window instead of a view.
The contrast makes my chest ache.
And then—strangely—an old memory rises up through the fear.
A small, breathless giggle escapes me before I can stop it.
"What's so funny?" Danny murmurs, amusement threading through his voice as he gently bites my cheek.
"Stawppp," I mumble, swatting at him weakly, pretending to wipe his saliva off my face.
He scoffs theatrically, then licks my cheek again just to be annoying.
"What's so funny, hmm?" he asks, kissing the same spot where he bit me.
"Do you remember our first sleepover?" I ask softly, hoping—irrationally—that he does.
"You mean when we fucked or…?" he replies, laughter unmistakable in his tone.
I'm so glad it's dark. I'm trying very hard not to smile.
I slap his chest lightly.
"No. When we were ten. That sleepover."
"Of course I remember," he says immediately. "We watched The Conjuring for the first time. You were convinced it would scare me."
"And?" I prompt, biting my lip, trying to sound casual.
"And you started crying halfway through," he continues, voice warm with memory. "And then—"
I fail completely and giggle. "And then?"
"And then I made a circle of salt around you," he says sheepishly, "because you said the monster couldn't cross it."
I laugh, the sound lighter now, freer.
"And then?" I press.
"And then," he says, softer, "I volunteered to sit between you and the screen. So the monster wouldn't see you.Because I was taller."
Something twists gently in my chest.
We laugh together, the sound filling the room, chasing away the last echoes of the nightmare. He leans in and kisses my chin.
Who kisses someone on the chin?
I wish—stupidly—that he'd miss by an inch.
"Danny," I say, trying not to sound breathless. "That's my chin."
"I know," he replies.
Don't ask.
Don't ask.
Don't ask.
"Well then," I say, voice barely steady, "shouldn't you kiss my lips?"
He moves closer. Too close.
His thumb hovers just beneath my lower lip, not touching, like he's testing how much space he's allowed to take.
I can feel his breath against my mouth when he whispers,
"I want you clear. I want you sure when I kiss you."
And just like that, I'm a puddle of something else entirely.
I press a sweet kiss to his nose and pull myself off his lap before I do something I'm not ready to unpack.
"Can I sleep here?" I ask, trying to sound casual. "On the same bed, I mean."
He clears his throat. "Yeah. Yeah—okay. I mean—yeah."
Too eager.
"Hm," I tease. "Make space for me."
I hear the sheets rustle as he shifts, and I slide down beside him, turning so we're facing each other.
"Sooo," he says, poking the curve of my waist with his finger.
"Yes?"
"If somehow—and I mean somehow—you face that way and I hold you. Like spooning. But I'm asleep. That would totally not be my fault. Right?"
I swat his hand away, fighting the urge to grab it and kiss his palm.
"You, sir," I say, mock-serious,
"Do not like spooning. Unless it's me spooning you. A five-foot-tall woman spooning a caveman like you while you hum and pretend not to enjoy every second of it."
"Danny likessss beinggg the little spoooon," I sing softly.
"Shut up," he grumbles.
"I'm a bear."
To prove it, he lets out what can only be described as the worst growl I've ever heard.
I try to laugh—but I snort instead.
Now we're both laughing, quietly, breathless, shoulders shaking.
I want to store that laugh of his.
"I might not be a bear," he says, "but you are definitely a pig, Rain."
"Shut it, you baby," I shoot back.
He giggles.
Actually giggles.
And then, slowly, the laughter fades.
The night presses in again, heavy and vast outside the walls.
Inside, though—inside feels different. Sheltered. Almost sacred.
Like a sanctuary.
I feel safe. Not just in my head—but deep in my bones.
"Danny?" I whisper.
"Yeah?" He's still awake. I can feel him watching me.
"I felt really scared," I admit.
"I could hear them laugh."
"It's only me," he says softly.
"Only I'm here."
But I know fear.
I recognize how it moves.
I feel it again, testing the edges of the room, searching for cracks.
And then it slips inward, settling somewhere deep, quiet, patient.
"Danny."
"Hmm?"
"Maybe you were right," I say slowly.
"Maybe a desk job would help. It's… more suited to me. Right?"
I don't know what I expect him to say.
He doesn't speak.
He just squeezes my shoulder gently.
And somehow, that's answer enough.