After Lance settled the bill, he returned to Lily with a soft, unreadable smile and offered his hand to help her up. The terrace was still, glowing under the last remnants of evening light, the bouquet arrangements gently stirring in the breeze.
He walked ahead, just slightly, enough to open the passenger door for her. Lily slipped in, murmuring a soft, "Thank you," as he closed it gently behind her.
The drive back was calm, the road stretching out in dark ribbons, lit intermittently by streetlights and the soft glow from Lance's dashboard. He kept his focus ahead, one hand steady on the wheel, the other resting casually near the gearshift. His profile was half-lit by the passing lights—clean lines, thoughtful expression, and those same eyes that looked like they could read time if it stood still.
Lily found herself watching him. Not just glancing—watching.
The more she spent time with him, the more she realized her attraction to him wasn't fleeting or superficial. It wasn't just about how handsome he was—though he was unfairly so—or how his eyes seemed to glow when he was deep in thought. It was everything else. The way he carried himself. The quiet composure that never felt cold. The low, enticing tone of his voice as he spoke about his family.
Her gaze dropped to his hands—those precise, gifted hands that held lives in them. Hands that could save people from death's grip. How many stories rested in those palms?
Was it because she'd never been in love before? Or because this man—this brilliant, focused, gently charming man—seemed to want her too?
Her heart fluttered at the memory of his wink, teasing her about being a centuries-old vampire. That smirk. That darling, boyish smirk. It stayed with her, nestled deep somewhere between her ribs.
And so, while Lance kept his eyes on the road, Lily sat quietly beside him---her head turned ever so slightly, completely lost in his face, heart full and gaze soft--- falling in love in the quietest, most unexpected way.
The car hummed softly beneath them as the city lights began to blur past the windows. Lily, still turned slightly toward Lance, hadn't realized just how long she'd been staring until—
"Wipe the drool off your face, Storm."
Lance's voice was smooth, teasing, but laced with that familiar warmth that always made her chest feel too full.
Lily jerked upright; eyes wide. "What?! I—I wasn't—!" She caught the faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth and groaned. "You're joking."
"A very good one, too." He didn't even glance her way; all focus still on the road ahead.
She folded her arms with an exaggerated huff. "You really shouldn't tease your patients like this."
"Ah, but you're not just a patient anymore, are you?"
There was something in his voice that made her pulse jump, but before she could reply, he flicked on the turn signal, taking the next corner smoothly.
For a second there, Lily soaked in how electrifying Lance calling her Storm felt, her favorite way of him calling her yet.
The silence that followed his teasing was light, almost comfortable—like a shared secret still lingering in the air.
The soft melody playing in the car shifted, drawing Lily's attention. She tilted her head slightly, letting the gentle rhythm wash over her.
"Your music taste is…" she paused, listening to the soft vocals and subtle guitar, "really lovely. Calming but not sleepy. Romantic but not trying too hard."
Lance gave a half-smile, eyes still on the road. "You've really analyzed that, huh?"
"Well, I'm a writer. We notice the little things." She leaned back in her seat, eyes narrowing curiously. "Do you have a song that means something to you? Like, really speaks to you?"
There was a pause—a contemplative silence, one that felt like him choosing his words with care.
"I'm glad you asked," he finally said, voice low and thoughtful. "I've been listening to the band: Boys Like Girls. I used to like them casually, you know? It was just those songs that played in the background." He glanced at her briefly. "Lately, I've been getting caught up in two songs.... 'Be Your Everything' and 'Two Is Better Than One.' They feel like... like they say everything I want to tell you. I hope that doesn't scare you off."
Lily's breath caught in her throat.
There was no flirtation in his tone—just honesty. Soft, unassuming, and so sincere it made her heart ache in the gentlest way.
Lily smiled, heart still stammering from the weight of Lance's confession. "I'll listen to those songs once I get home," she said softly, her voice wrapped in something fragile and tender.
He didn't say anything in response, but the curve of his smile deepened just slightly—just enough for her to know it meant something to him.
When they pulled into her driveway, the porch light was still on, casting a soft halo over the steps. Lance turned off the engine and got out quickly, circling around the car to open her door before she could even reach for the handle. His gentlemanly instincts still caught her off guard sometimes.
"Thank you," she said again, stepping out as he offered his hand.
They walked up to the porch together, the soft sound of her heels tapping quietly against the steps, and once they reached the top, neither of them moved to go just yet.
Lily leaned lightly against the wooden railing. "Tonight was… really lovely," she said, looking up at him through her lashes. "Simple, but in all the right ways."
He nodded; his hands tucked into his coat pockets. "Yeah. It was. I can't remember the last time I felt so—light."
A breeze rolled past, rustling the leaves in the hedges nearby. The porch light gave her eyes a golden shimmer, and Lance found himself watching her in that long, still moment—not in awe, but in quiet reverence.
Then, gently, he stepped forward and pulled her into his arms.
She melted into him instantly, her cheek resting against his chest, arms wrapping slowly around his waist. Lance closed his eyes, taking in everything about her. The softness of her curls against his hand, the way they tickled slightly as he dipped his chin toward her temple. And her scent—something floral and sweet, with the faintest hint of ink and old paper. Something that was uniquely her.
"Let's do this more often," he whispered into her ear, his breath warm against her skin.
She didn't answer, but her arms tightened just a little around him.
When he finally pulled away, it was slow, reluctant. He looked at her for a beat longer, then leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead.
"Go in," he murmured, a bit more serious now. His eyes flicked upward toward the window where he caught the subtle movement of a curtain falling back into place. Her father, maybe. Watching, waiting.
Lance smiled faintly. "I think I've already overstayed my welcome."
Lily laughed under her breath, barely a sound, and nodded. "Goodnight, Lance."
"Goodnight, Storm."
She turned and slipped inside, shutting the door softly behind her.
In the warm quiet of the hallway, Lily kicked off her shoes and padded toward the living room, where her dad was nursing a cup of tea and pretending not to have been watching from the shadows.
"I'm home," she said gently, avoiding his raised eyebrow and amused smirk. "Going to sleep now. We'll talk tomorrow."
She didn't wait for a reply—just turned and made her way up the stairs, her heart still fluttering, her body still wrapped in the warmth of that hug, and her mind already playing the songs Lance had told her about before she'd even hit play.
* * *
Upstairs, Lily changed into her pajamas—an oversized T-shirt and flannel shorts—before curling up beneath her duvet. Her heart was still caught somewhere between the front porch and the soft kiss on her forehead. She reached for her phone on the nightstand, plugging in her earphones and went to her music app pulling up the song Lance had mentioned first.
She tapped play on "Be Your Everything."
The first notes reached her softly, like the brush of fingers across skin—acoustic, stripped bare, impossible to ignore. Then came the voice: low, honest, full of something that made her heart tilt sideways.
It was a love song, but not the kind that shouted declarations. This one hesitated at the edges, like someone trying to say something they weren't sure they had the right to say. A four-letter word hovered between the lines, unsaid but pressing. It sang about smiles that masked too much, about stories left unfinished, and a friendship balanced on a precipice—just waiting for one brave step.
Lily's chest tightened. Each word felt like it had been written by someone who knew her—knew them. She could almost hear the voice tremble when it confessed how perfect the other person was, how hard it was to keep pretending nothing more existed. The chorus hit her a quiet embrace—promising comfort and chaos, warmth and wildness, safety and surrender. A love that could hold through storms and still make space for soft things.
As the final chords melted into silence, Lily sat still, wrapped in something deeper than just melody. The song echoed the feeling of Lance's arms around her, the press of his lips against her forehead, and the quiet, unspoken promise that she wasn't alone in this.
It was like he'd found the words she hadn't known how to ask for. Like he'd handed her a secret message folded between chords and verses, and it read: "This is how I feel. This is where we could go."
She hugged her pillow closer, cheeks warm.
"I don't think I've ever wanted someone to mean something so badly," she whispered to the dark, she'd written love into many stories. But tonight, for the first time, she wanted one to be hers.
The butterflies were no longer quiet. They were fluttering freely, dancing in her chest, in her throat, in every inch of her. She tapped the screen to replay the song again—just once more.
But sleep didn't come.
Not yet.
She knew she'd be playing this song on repeat.
But her finger hovered, paused, over the next title in the playlist Lance had mentioned.
"Two Is Better Than One."
The opening chords drifted through the room, soft and familiar—like a memory she hadn't realized she was waiting to feel. The melody didn't just play; it settled, curling gently around her like the way quiet thoughts fill a dimly lit room.
The first verse painted a moment she knew intimately. Not the literal details, but the feeling—the split second when someone enters your life and something shifts, almost imperceptibly, but enough that everything afterward feels a little different. She remembered Lance walking towards his consultation room, tall and serious in his white coat. The way his gaze had softened when it landed on her. The low calm of his voice. The instinct that whispered: This might matter.
Her eyes fluttered shut. The lyrics weren't hers, and yet they felt borrowed from her own heart. The song spoke of the way someone could slowly, completely change everything without trying. The kind of presence that took your breath away, not with grand gestures—but just by being there.
She held the blanket tighter, a quiet defense against the vulnerability blooming in her chest. There were so many things she hadn't let herself feel. The hope. The fear. The ache of needing someone when you weren't sure if it was safe to need anyone at all.
The chorus wrapped around her like truth whispered in the dark: that maybe life didn't need to be figured out all at once. That maybe it was okay to admit you didn't want to face it alone. And that just maybe… being with someone who saw you—really saw you—wasn't weakness. It was something else. Something stronger.
Her breath hitched as the final lines played on, unravelling her one note at a time.
Maybe two was better than one.
She let the song wrap around her, each lyric a thread stitching together the night they'd shared.
Then looped that too.
It became a rhythm—song, silence, thought. Then again. And again.
The melodies folded over her like waves, one after another, each time pulling her deeper into the memory of his voice, the warmth of his hand on the back of her head, the slow press of his forehead against hers.
The lyrics kept pouring in making her breath hitch. These weren't just lyrics. They were something she could almost hear him say if he ever let himself speak without restraint.
The second song started again, and with it came an ache that bloomed slowly behind her ribs. She remembered what he wore and how he took her breathe away with each step he took towards her. She remembered everything. The way his eyes crinkled when he smiled, the low timbre of his voice, the certainty in his every word. It was too early, too fragile, too new—but still, she felt it.
She didn't know what this was yet. Not exactly. But whatever it was, it was growing fast—twisting through her like vines climbing a wall, reaching for light.
By the fourth replay, her body finally began to give in. Her eyes fluttered, heavy now, lashes brushing her cheeks as the chorus swelled one last time.
I cannot live .....
Her lips moved faintly with the words, not quite speaking, not quite dreaming. And just as the final chord faded into silence, Lily drifted off at last—wrapped not just in the warm blanket, but in the music, the memory, and something else that felt a lot like hope.
Saturday Morning
Lance rose early, as he always did. It didn't matter that it was Saturday—his internal clock didn't believe in weekends. By six-thirty, he was dressed in navy scrubs and sipping black coffee in his office, reviewing charts and lab updates that had rolled in overnight.
There was a quietness to Saturdays at the hospital. The halls felt less rushed; the chatter more relaxed. Still, patients needed care. Lives didn't pause because of a calendar.
He made his rounds, checking in on a teenage girl recovering from a rare brain tumor resection. Then he spoke with a new admit—an older gentleman whose scans showed lesions they couldn't yet classify. By ten-thirty, he was back in the staff lounge, rinsing out his mug when his phone buzzed.
Lily Storm
11:02 AM
The songs were perfect, Lance. Like the crown jewel on a really beautiful day.
I think I fell asleep wrapped in those lyrics. I just wanted to say thank you again.
A smile tugged at his lips—small, private, but unmistakably real.
He thumbed a reply without hesitation.
Lance
11:04 AM
You deserved that.
And so much more.
He stared at the screen for a beat longer, as if half-expecting her to respond instantly. But she didn't. Maybe she was writing, maybe she was curled up in bed still listening to the songs.
Either way, he slid the phone into his pocket and exhaled, letting the warmth of her words carry him into the rest of his shift.
He was due in Imaging next, then a consult with Dr. Finch on a puzzling adrenal mass. After that, he'd review a research proposal with Dr. Lin about integrating music therapy into pain management protocols. Fitting, somehow—today, of all days.
But before he stepped out of the lounge, he paused by the window. Sunlight streamed in, catching the specks of dust in the air, turning them golden.
He closed his eyes for a moment. This life really was different.