The rain had turned brutal.

Thick, hammering drops blurred the outside world into streaks of silver and shadow. Inside the dorm, the air was heavy and still—lit only by the flickering pulse of a bedside lamp and the faint orange glow of the city beyond the window. It smelled like storm-soaked pavement, musky hoodie fabric, and Kai—warm, woodsy, a little sweet, and unmistakably him.

He sat curled near the head of the bed, knees tucked loosely to his chest, hair damp and tousled. His hoodie hung low on his frame, sleeves tugged over his hands in that familiar way he always did when he was nervous. His silver rings peeked out as he fidgeted with the hem, biting gently at his lip as his eyes lifted the second you stepped inside.

You were drenched. The storm had gotten the better of you, and the clothes clinging to your skin told no lies about the shape beneath. The second he saw you, everything about him shifted. His breath caught. His legs unfolded slowly, like his whole body remembered how much it missed being wrapped around you.