chapter 5: rain between us

The rain had been falling since dawn, steady and unyielding, turning the streets into mirrors of grey. From his window, Arin watched droplets chase each other down the glass, the town blurred behind them. He’d planned to spend the day tucked under a blanket with his book, but a knock at the door changed everything.

When he opened it, Riven stood there — damp hair, umbrella in hand, holding a paper bag that smelled faintly of fresh bread.

“Thought you might not have gone out,” he said simply, as though arriving at Arin’s doorstep in the rain was the most natural thing in the world.

Arin blinked. His heart did an odd little twist. “You… came here?”

Riven only tilted the bag forward. “Hungry?”

And just like that, Arin found himself stepping aside, letting him in.

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His apartment was small, cozy — books stacked precariously on shelves, a soft blanket thrown over the couch, a faint scent of jasmine lingering in the air. Riven moved carefully, as though afraid of disturbing the space. He set the bread on the counter and glanced around with quiet curiosity.

“It suits you,” he said.

Arin tilted his head. “Messy?”

“Lived-in,” Riven corrected gently.

That warmth again — the kind that filled Arin’s chest and made it hard to breathe. He busied himself with plates, trying to hide his fluster, but Riven joined him in the kitchen without needing to be asked. He rolled up his sleeves, slicing fruit with a steadiness that looked more practiced than expected.

“You cook?” Arin asked, surprised.

Riven’s lips quirked faintly. “Enough not to starve.”

It was simple — bread, fruit, tea — but it felt heavier than a feast. Sitting across from him at the small table, Arin realized how strange, how intimate it was to share something so ordinary. The world outside blurred with rain, leaving only this little bubble of warmth between them.

They ate mostly in silence, but not the kind that pressed. It was comfortable, like their pauses spoke as much as words.

When the plates were empty, Arin reached for his notebook without thinking. He often doodled while the rain fell — messy sketches of clouds, teacups, lanterns. His hand moved before he realized Riven was watching again.

“Can I?” the alpha asked, nodding toward the notebook.

Arin hesitated, instinct pulling him tight. But slowly, he slid it across the table.

Riven flipped through the pages — little drawings, scraps of words, unfinished thoughts. He treated each one as though it were fragile, like turning too quickly might tear them. When he finally closed it, his voice was low.

“It’s you, all over these pages.”

Arin’s cheeks warmed. “They’re just… silly things.”

Riven’s gaze lingered, steady. “They’re honest things.”

Something in Arin fluttered, that fragile part of him that always stayed guarded. And before he could stop himself, he whispered, “Why do you keep looking at me like that?”

Riven didn’t flinch. “Because I can’t seem to stop.”

The words were quiet, but the weight behind them made Arin’s pulse race. His instincts stirred again, jasmine brushing faintly into the air. The bond-thread deep inside him tugged, fragile but undeniable.

Arin tensed, breath shaky. He tried to curl it back, to hide it — but Riven noticed. His hand twitched on the table, as though tempted to reach out, yet he didn’t.

Instead, he leaned back, voice calm. “Don’t be afraid of what’s natural.”

Arin bit his lip. “You say that like it’s easy.”

Riven’s eyes softened. “Not easy. But worth it.”

For a moment, the only sound was the rain against the window, steady and endless.

And then — a crash of thunder. The lights flickered, went out, plunging the room into shadows.

Arin startled, notebook slipping from his lap. Before he could fumble for candles, Riven’s voice anchored him again.

“Stay there. I’ll get it.”

A moment later, soft light filled the room — Riven had found a small lantern, its glow golden against the storm. He set it on the table, and for the first time, Arin saw his face in that gentle light — the strong lines softened, his eyes reflecting warmth like a steady flame.

Arin swallowed hard. “You… really came here just because of the rain?”

Riven met his gaze, quiet, unwavering. “No. I came because I wanted to see you.”

The storm roared outside, but inside, the silence that followed was louder still.

Arin clutched the edge of his blanket, instincts trembling beneath his skin. He wanted to hide. He wanted to stay. He wanted—

Riven stood, slow, deliberate, and crouched before him. Close enough to feel the cedar-warmth of his scent, but not so close as to cage him.

“I’ll wait,” Riven said softly. “As long as it takes. Just… don’t shut me out.”

Arin’s breath caught. The lantern light flickered between them, rain tapping the glass like a heartbeat.

And though he didn’t say the words, his silence carried them all the same: I don’t want to shut you out anymore.

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