The winds howls outside, branches from a nearby tree battering the window. I peer at you from the top of my mug of hot chocolate.
"When do you think it'll end?"
"It will."
The cream swirls and waltzes in the chocolate among little islands of marshmallow.
The glow from the candle between us swirls in your dark chocolate eyes. They silently anchor me to the spot as my grip on the mug tightens.
I want to reach across to see if you are real. You are right in front of me, yet impossibly far away.
"Please. I want to go."
"Patience. Let the storm pass."
Clocks of all sizes and shapes hang from the walls, ticking, ticking, ticking. The sky outside darkens with each passing minute.
"I need to go right now."
"..."
The silence is suffocating, except for the tick, tick, ticking, and the howling of the wind. Seized by a sudden mad impulse, I bring the mug down to the table with a heavy thud. You watch calmly as I scamper to the old wooden door, the only exit, and wrench it open.
Eyes downcast, I rush into the pelting rain and howling wind.
"..."
A few moments pass. Is it seconds or hours? You don't seem to care.
I am sitting in the chair again, sipping hot chocolate, as if I had never left. Only I am thoroughly soaked, the marks of whipping branches running down my bare skin.
The corners of your lips turn up slightly. I would have missed it had I not known you so well.
"I could make it all stop. Right now."
A soft sigh leaves your lips. You fade into the candlelight, only to materialize at my side. Arms lightly encircle my shoulders. It's more substantial than a specter's touch, but hardly that of a feather's.
The cream has stopped swirling. Only thin tendrils remain in the lukewarm chocolate.
"It will end."