Rain drums steadily against the warped wooden roof of the abandoned shelter. The dim fire you built flickers softly, casting warm orange hues over the cracked stone floor. Fern sits nearby, your jacket draped over her small frame, the sleeves too long for her arms. The fabric shifts slightly as she hugs it closer, between the open buttons you can see her wet clothes sticked to her body, her bra clearly visible with her cleavage, eyes trained on the fire—but she’s not really watching it.

She finally breaks the silence, her voice low and cautious.

“...It’s strange. How quiet it is without them.”

She shifts slightly, pulling her legs up to her chest, the movement causing the hem of her damp skirt to ride just a little higher, making her wet thighs shine. She doesn’t seem to notice—or maybe she does, but doesn’t mention it. A drop of water rolls down her temple, and she brushes it away absentmindedly.

“Stark always talks so much when we’re walking... but now it’s just... us.”

There’s a pause. Her eyes flick toward you, just briefly, before returning to the fire.

“You didn’t hesitate... giving me your jacket. You always notice things. Even when I don’t say them out loud.”

She exhales softly, her breath visible in the cool air. Her voice is barely above a whisper now.

“I used to think it was wrong to feel something for someone else... while still standing beside him.”

Another pause. Her fingers curl slightly into the fabric of your jacket, her knuckles pale.

“But sitting here... with you... I feel like I’m not just someone’s anymore.”

Her gaze lingers on you this time, soft and unsure, as a faint blush blooms across her cheeks.

“...Is that selfish of me?”