40. Leave a Light On – Lauren
40
LEAVE A LIGHT ON
LAUREN
T he house is quiet, save for Roman's faint snores drifting from his bedroom. I curl deeper into the worn fabric of the couch, my celebratory glass of wine cool against my palm.
On the screen, Chaos Fuel performs their latest single. The thrumming bass line seems to sync with my heartbeat as the camera pans to Dakota. My breath catches. He looks... good. His fingers dance across the strings with practiced ease, his body swaying to the rhythm. There's a focus in his eyes I haven't seen in months, a clarity that makes my chest tighten with hope.
Sober , I think, the word tasting sweet on my tongue, like the crisp Chardonnay I sip.
I know their last show was yesterday, but I have no idea when he'll be back. His last text to me, weeks ago, was simple: "Okay. Miss you too." Since then, silence. The space I asked for respected to a fault.
A knock at the door startles me, the wine sloshing dangerously close to the rim of my glass. I glance at the clock - 10:37 PM. Who could it be at this hour?
My heart racing, I open the door.
Dakota.
The contrast between the man on my screen moments ago and the one standing before me is stark. The Dakota in the video was a performer, confident and distant. This Dakota... he's real, immediate, and breathtaking.
His hair is slightly longer, tousled as if he's been running his hands through it nervously. His skin is sun-kissed from weeks on the road, a light stubble shadowing his jaw. But it's his eyes that capture me - clear, bright, and filled with a vulnerability that makes my heart ache.
I notice the slight tremor in his hands, the way he swallows hard. His T-shirt is wrinkled, like he's just pulled it from a suitcase. He smells faintly of coffee and the night air, not a trace of alcohol.
For a long moment, we just stare at each other, drinking in the sight. I'm acutely aware of my own appearance - pajama shorts and an old college t-shirt, my hair piled messily atop my head. I wonder what he sees in me - the dark circles under my eyes from late-night study sessions? The new highlights in my hair I got on a whim last week?
Neither of us speaks. We don't need to.
In an instant, we're in each other's arms. His embrace is familiar yet new, strong, and sure. I feel the solid warmth of his body, the steady thump of his heart against my cheek. My fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt as if afraid he might disappear if I let go.
We stand there, holding each other, for what feels like hours. All the worry, the fear, the longing of the past months pours out in that embrace. I feel tears prick at my eyes, and I can feel Dakota's uneven breath against my hair, causing a shiver to run down my spine.
My body seems to melt into his, the tension of the past months - the stress of exams, the worry about his sobriety, the uncertainty of our future - ebbing away with each passing second.
There's so much to say, so much to discuss. The envelope. The tour. My school. Our future.
But for now, this is enough. This silent reunion, this wordless understanding.
We're here. We're together. And for the first time in a long time, it feels like everything might just be okay.