Act I -- The Afterglow Isn't Always Gentle
Introduction
Zariah didn't plan to stay. Malik didn't plan to forgive. But one blackout, two bare bodies, and a decade's worth of tension later--plans don't mean a damn thing. Between the sheets, they find fire. In the daylight, they find everything else: secrets, old scars, and a dangerous ex who still thinks "no" means "try harder."
The storm had passed, but the heat still clung to everything. The air outside was thick like syrup, and inside the shotgun house, it felt like the walls were sweating.
Zariah stood in her grandmother's bedroom, the same room she used to sleep in during summers, when her knees were ashy and her dreams too small for the sky she now chased. The scent of magnolia clung to the curtains, the floor creaked with every step, and the walls whispered things she wasn't ready to hear.
The funeral was over. The condolences were dry. The house was hers now.
She hadn't planned to stay. Just pack a few boxes, maybe cry a little, then run back to Atlanta where she had a life that looked good on the outside and felt hollow underneath. But something made her linger. Maybe it was grief. Or maybe it was him.
Malik.
Still lived next door.
He'd been her childhood friend, teenage secret, and her first almost-everything. Ten years ago, she ran. Left without a goodbye. Left behind his slow smile, the smell of motor oil and clove cigarettes, and the way he looked at her like she held all the answers.
That morning, she'd seen him through the kitchen window. Shirtless, sweat-slicked, body dipped in tattoos and memory. He was working on a car, eyes shaded under a snapback, arms flexing as he turned a wrench. He hadn't looked up.
But she felt him. Like gravity.
Malik - The Night Before
Malik sat on the edge of his bed, hands on his thighs, heart thumping like thunder before the storm. The house was too quiet. Outside, rain lashed the windows like it had a bone to pick.
He hadn't seen Zariah in ten years, but the second he spotted her standing in that kitchen earlier, barefoot, in her grandmother's house... it was like time folded in on itself. She looked the same and completely different. Softer in some places, sharper in others. Her mouth was tighter. Her eyes--tired, but still lit from within.
He should've knocked earlier.
He thought about it for hours. Paced the living room. Took a shot of dark liquor. Got in the shower and jacked off to the memory of her laughing that summer night on his hood in nothing but a tank top and box braids.
He didn't finish.
Didn't want to waste it.
There was too much still unsaid between them, too much still undone. Malik stood and pulled on a hoodie. Grabbed his keys. Then paused.
He didn't need to drive.
She was next door. Just like always.
Only this time, he was going to see if she'd open the door. And if she did?
He wasn't walking away again.
Flashback - That Summer Night
It had been one of those Southern nights so hot the air felt like it clung to your skin just to breathe. The A/C was busted, and her grandma had gone to bed early. Zariah and Malik were sprawled out on the hardwood floor, popsicles in hand, fans whirring in the windows.
She wore cutoff shorts and a ribbed tank that clung to her chest with sweat. Her locs were pulled into a messy bun, and her thighs stuck to the floor when she shifted. Malik lay next to her, his skin glistening, laughing at some inside joke that had faded in the air.
"I can't feel my face," she whispered.
"You ain't gotta," he said, voice lazy. "You look too good to need sense right now."
She rolled her eyes but smiled. That smile only he got.
Silence settled in. Comfortable. Charged.
Their hands touched. She didn't pull away.
She looked over and found him already watching her.
"I ever tell you," he said, "you the reason I started writing those dumb poems in my notebook?"
She blinked. "You write poems?"
He shrugged. "Not anymore. Used to. When I didn't know what to do with all this... energy."
She turned on her side, facing him. Her thigh brushed his. Neither of them moved.
"Read one to me."
He scoffed. "Hell no."
She grinned, biting the end of her popsicle. "Then show me."
His eyes dropped to her mouth.
Something shifted.
He leaned in.
She didn't stop him.
Their mouths were inches apart. Her breath hitched. His hand touched her jaw, thumb brushing her cheek. It was so soft, it wasn't even a kiss yet--just promise.
Then her grandmother's voice echoed from down the hall: "Zariah! Come help me with this damn window!"
They froze. The moment shattered.
Zariah pulled back, heart racing.
Malik sat up, the spell broken.
She never talked about that night again.
And when she left for college a month later--she didn't say goodbye.
Part 2: The Storm + First Sex Scene
By nightfall, the storm came. Thunder cracked the sky wide open, and the power blinked out across the block.
Zariah lit candles. Poured herself a drink. Bourbon, neat. Let it burn a path down her throat while the rain tapped against the windows like it had something to say.
Then came the knock.
She opened the door and there he was. Malik. Drenched. Steam rising off his skin. Locs dripping. Eyes dark and unreadable.
"Power's out," he said.
She stood barefoot in an oversized shirt, no panties, no bra, body humming from memory and the liquor.
"I got candles," she said.
"I got reasons to stay."
They didn't talk much.
The door clicked shut and something inside her snapped. The kind of snap that echoed in the gut, that begged for ruin.
Malik grabbed her, hands rough, lips hungry. Their mouths crashed. She tasted rain and years of silence. His hands gripped her ass, lifted her, slammed her back against the hallway wall. Her legs wrapped around him on instinct.
He kissed her like punishment. Like prayer. Like she'd been a ghost and he was dragging her back to life.
He yanked her shirt over her head. She was bare beneath it. Her nipples pebbled, her body flushed.
"No bra. No panties. You planned this?"
"I hoped."
"You about to get what you asked for."
He carried her into the kitchen and set her on the counter. The candlelight flickered across his skin, and she drank him in. Chest carved, abs tight, his dick already straining against his jeans.
He dropped to his knees.
She spread her thighs and he buried his face between them. His tongue moved like he knew the song by heart. Slow licks up her slit, teasing her clit before sucking it with just enough pressure to make her moan.
