His eyes flicker—catching something in mine I didn’t mean to show.
“You can love me too…” he challenges, like he’s daring me to admit it.
The words crawl over my skin, sending chills up my arms. My pulse stutters… because I know I didn’t just say that out loud.
“Noah! Are you in there? Open the door, sweetheart.”
Gabriel’s fist lands hard against the wooden door, the sound shuddering through the room and jarring us both from this dangerous dance.
Without thinking, I slam my mouth into Noah’s, catching him completely by surprise. I taste the sweetness of his lips and inhale his sharp gasp. His moan slips onto my tongue as I run my palms over his cheeks and slide my fingers through his hair, holding him close for just a moment too long.
“Noah… please, sweetheart. Open the door.” Gabriel pleads from the other side, that smooth, syrupy Spanish accent filling the space.
I want to spit on his words. Smother them. Rip them apart before they reach Noah’s ears. I want to tear myself apart too—because what am I even doing here? Kissing him like he’s mine when I know damn well this isn’t romance. More like disaster with a pretty face. Or a storm I keep stepping into on purpose. I just haven’t figured out why I’d rather bleed than walk away.
Noah’s lips tremble beneath mine, the vibration sending shockwaves through my veins.
“Noah!” Gabriel’s voice cuts through the door, sharp and commanding.
“I’m coming,” Noah mumbles against my mouth.
The words melt into the kiss, sloppy and ruined, and I wonder if Gabriel can hear it—how wrecked Noah sounds, how muffled his voice is, tangled up in our kiss.
A part of me hopes he can.
Okay. That’s fucked up. But I have no restraint when it comes to this beautiful man.
“Please, Alex,” Noah whispers, his breath hot against my lips. “I need to know… can you see the rain?”
I peel my lips off his and take a step back. “I can’t, Noah. I can’t.”
“You can’t… what?” He sighs, voice trembling. “Can’t see the rain? Can’t love me? Can’t figure this out? Can’t…”
He chokes on the rest, wipes his tears across his wrists, and takes a deep breath.
I don’t know what to say. Don’t even know how to speak anymore. Suddenly, I feel engulfed in confusion. Again.
It’s not the first time he’s asked me about the rain.
Not the first time he’s looked at me like it should mean something. At least to one of us.
But every time he says it, or asks me to figurethisout, I feel like I’m standing outside a moment I’m supposed to understand, soaking wet and blind to whatever truth he’s drowning in.
“Can you at least make me a promise?” he asks, pulling me from my thoughts.
He reaches for my hand, fingers tracing gently over the ink on my skin. His touch lingers on the lines of the puzzle piece, like he’s trying to read something that I clearly can’t see.
Then his eyes lift—soft, wet, hopeful enough to hurt.
“Promise that you’ll find me. And when you do… dance with me?”
A tear rolls down his cheek, slipping past his trembling lips, and something in me reaches for it on instinct. I want to gather every single tear and guard them as if they were precious.
But they’re not mine.
I reach up anyway, smoothing a stray strand from his forehead, tucking it behind his ear. My touch lingers just a breath too long against his skin.
“I can’t make any promises, beautiful.”
