John takes the cup with a murmured, "Cheers, love," though he doesn't do more than hold onto it. Aside from being too hot to drink, he doesn't fancy attempting any delicate maneuvering when there's decent odds that an ill-timed thunderclap will have him just spilling it right down his front.
Sure enough, moments after Martin bustles off to retrieve a blanket, there's another almighty crash from the heavens, swiftly followed by a total loss of power. The living room falls into a deep gloom, the cloud cover so heavy that only a faint suggestion of daylight ekes its way through the windows. Which means that the hall closet — from which Martin's peevish complaint emerges — must have hardly any light at all.
"Hang on," John calls back, setting down his cup. His phone is still in his bag, but Martin left his on the coffee table, and the flashlight function doesn't require mucking about with passcodes. Aiming the LED glow at the floor, John makes his way to the closet.
Martin's found their best blanket, at least. "Here, I'll trade you," John says, offering him his phone and tucking the blanket under one arm. Then, as much because he's annoyed by how long this has already been deferred as because they're both rattled now, he wraps his free arm around Martin and pulls himself close, answering a deeper rumble of thunder with a grumble of his own as he nuzzles into Martin's hair. "Now it's just being melodramatic," he says in the tone of someone who is above such histrionics, always has been, and always will be. "Embarrassing, really."
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Sure enough, moments after Martin bustles off to retrieve a blanket, there's another almighty crash from the heavens, swiftly followed by a total loss of power. The living room falls into a deep gloom, the cloud cover so heavy that only a faint suggestion of daylight ekes its way through the windows. Which means that the hall closet — from which Martin's peevish complaint emerges — must have hardly any light at all.
"Hang on," John calls back, setting down his cup. His phone is still in his bag, but Martin left his on the coffee table, and the flashlight function doesn't require mucking about with passcodes. Aiming the LED glow at the floor, John makes his way to the closet.
Martin's found their best blanket, at least. "Here, I'll trade you," John says, offering him his phone and tucking the blanket under one arm. Then, as much because he's annoyed by how long this has already been deferred as because they're both rattled now, he wraps his free arm around Martin and pulls himself close, answering a deeper rumble of thunder with a grumble of his own as he nuzzles into Martin's hair. "Now it's just being melodramatic," he says in the tone of someone who is above such histrionics, always has been, and always will be. "Embarrassing, really."