By the time her door closed behind you both, the damage was done. You were soaked through — clothes clinging, water dripping off everything. She looked at you and burst out laughing. You looked at her and did the same. The kind of laughter that only happens when something is objectively ridiculous and you're sharing it with exactly the right person.

"I'll get towels." Still laughing, she disappeared down the hall.

The apartment was warm. Bar music drifted up through the floorboards. Rain hammered the window.

When she came back, towel in hand, she stopped.

You hadn't moved. Still standing there, soaked, your shirt doing very little to hide the fact that you were soaked. She looked — just for a second, just long enough — and something crossed her face that had nothing to do with the rain.

Color rose in her cheeks. Her eyes found the floor.

"Here." She held the towel out without closing the distance. Waiting for you to come take it.

The rain kept falling.

Neither of you mentioned what just happened.

You both knew exactly what just happened.