The rain began just as Rafael locked the door behind them.
A steady, rhythmic downpour drummed against the windows of his apartment — soft at first, then heavier, like the sky itself was exhaling. The sound filled the quiet room, wrapping around them like a blanket. Everything felt dim and warm, the golden glow of a single lamp casting long shadows along the walls.
Anabeth stood near the doorway, her breath caught between her ribs.
She had never been alone with Rafael like this. Not in a space that was entirely his.
And certainly not in a space that felt this sacred.
Rafael shrugged off his coat and draped it over a chair, movements slow, a little tense. He didn't look at her at first — he looked at the rain, then his hands, then finally, reluctantly, her.
"You're shaking," he said quietly.
Maybe she was.
But not from fear.
"I'm okay," she whispered.
His eyes lingered on her, tracing the truth beneath her words. He took a step closer, then stopped, gripping the back of the chair as though he needed an anchor.
"I shouldn't have brought you here," he said softly.
"Why not?"
"Because being around you makes me forget things I shouldn't forget."
He swallowed.
"Like control."
A shiver ran down her spine. She took a small step forward, closing the space between them inch by inch.
"You don't always have to control everything," she murmured.
Rafael let out a breath — long, slow, trembling — as if each second was a test he was barely passing.
"Anabeth," he said, almost pleading, "I'm trying not to cross a line I can't uncross."
She reached out and touched his forearm. Even that small contact sent lightning through both of them. His muscles tensed beneath her hand, not pulling away — just reacting.
"I trust you," she said softly. "And I want you here. With me."
His gaze flickered to her lips — just for a second, but it was enough to make the air between them thicken.
Rain hammered harder on the windows.
Rafael stepped closer, slowly, like each movement took thought, restraint, and surrender all at once. When he finally reached her, his fingers brushed her chin, lifting her head gently.
"Tell me to stop," he whispered, his voice rough.
She didn't.
Couldn't.
Instead, she rose on her toes and kissed him.
This kiss was nothing like the one under the flickering hallway light.
This one was hungry. Desperate. Alive.
Rafael pulled her into him, hands sliding to her waist, her back, her shoulders — everywhere, all at once, yet tender. Anabeth's fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer, needing more of him, needing him entirely.
His mouth moved against hers with growing intensity, breath mingling with hers as the kiss deepened. She felt the moment he lost his restraint — the moment he gave in. His hand slid to the small of her back, guiding her closer, pressing her against him as though he couldn't stand the inches left between them.
The room grew warmer, the rain louder, their breaths faster.
Rafael broke the kiss for only a moment, his forehead resting against hers.
"You're going to ruin me," he murmured.
"Maybe I want to."
He let out a low, quiet groan — one she felt more than heard — and kissed her again, deeper this time. The world narrowed to the warmth of his hands, the firmness of his grip, the heat of his breath against her skin.
They moved together toward the couch without noticing, guided by instinct more than intention. When she felt the cushions behind her knees, Rafael paused, his hands still resting on her waist.
His voice shook.
"Anabeth… if I don't stop now, I won't stop at all."
She took his hand and placed it over her heart, letting him feel its wild rhythm.
"I don't want you to stop."
Those words broke the last barrier in him.
He kissed her again, slower now — deeper, more meaningful, more intimate than anything she'd felt before. His lips traced along her jaw, down the side of her neck, each touch deliberate and reverent. Her breath hitched, her hands sliding up his arms, across his shoulders, drawing him even closer.
Rafael's breath grew uneven as he explored her with gentle, aching desire, every touch asking a question, every whisper offering a choice. Heat unfurled through her, soft at first, then potent, curling low and deep.
She felt his hesitation.
She felt his want.
She felt the way both tangled in his every breath.
His hand cupped her cheek, thumb brushing her skin.
"I want you," he confessed, voice barely audible. "More than I should."
Her answer was a kiss that tasted like a promise.
He lifted her slightly, guiding her down onto the couch, his body hovering above hers, supported by his arms so he wouldn't crush her. His hair fell slightly over his forehead, his eyes dark, searching, wanting.
"Tell me again," he whispered.
"Tell me you're sure."
She touched his face, her voice steady and warm.
"I'm sure."
Rafael lowered his forehead to her shoulder, exhaling shakily — a man losing the battle he'd been fighting for too long. His lips brushed her collarbone, soft and slow, sending waves of heat across her skin. His hands slid along her sides, exploring carefully, reverently, as though memorizing her.
Their bodies pressed together, breaths tangled, hearts wild.
The rain softened to a gentle rhythm.
The world outside blurred to silence.
And as their kisses deepened, as the space between them dissolved completely, as his touch grew more certain and her breath grew unsteady—
Rafael whispered her name like a vow.
The scene melted into warmth, shadows, and the quiet sound of rain as the night unfolded around them.
Fade to black