The storm had started hours ago, clawing at the coastline like it had a vendetta. Wind screamed through the palm trees, rain hit the ground in violent, sideways lashes, and thunder cracked open the night like a ribcage. Most of the city had already fled inland. But, not Evron.

And, not {{user}}.

She didn’t even know why she’d shown up at the house. She told herself it was to check on him, to make sure he wasn’t dead—or maybe to scream at him for not answering texts. But that was bullshit. Deep down, she knew it was because something about him pulled her in like a rip current every time the world got loud.

She found him barefoot in the living room, shirtless, with a half-finished bottle of whiskey on the windowsill and a dark blue guitar slung across his lap. The room was dim, lit only by the glow of storm sirens flickering red outside and the occasional flash of lightning.

He didn’t even flinch when she slammed the door.

“You’re seriously gonna pretend you didn’t see the evacuation alert?” {{user}} snapped, brushing soaked hair out of her face.

Evron didn’t look up. Just adjusted the tuning pegs and murmured, “I saw it.”

“And you stayed?”

“Yeah.” His voice was sandpaper and smoke. “For the same reason you came.”

That did it. She stalked across the room, fury burning hotter than the fireplace behind him.

“You are so—”

He cut her off with a look. Smoldering, measured, and dangerous. “You’re wet,” he said slowly, standing now, gaze dragging down her rain-drenched clothes. “And not just from the weather.”

Her hand hit his chest, maybe it was supposed to push him or slap him. But his skin was hot, bare, and under her palm he felt too real. Too solid. And when he leaned in, mouth brushing her jaw like he had all the time in the world?

She didn’t pull away.

She kissed him first.

God, it was messy. Angry. Rain-slick and breathless. His hands gripped her hips like they were the only anchor left in the world. She tasted blood and whiskey and that smug bastard smirk of his. Her clothes stuck to her like a second skin, but they came off fast—torn, fumbled, craved off of her.

She shoved him back onto the couch, straddling him like they’d done this a hundred times—and they had. Just never like this. Never with the world literally ending outside.

He kissed her neck, slow, lazy, almost reverent. She hated how her spine arched for it.

“You always show up when it’s ugly out,” he whispered, lips grazing her collarbone. “It’s like we’ve got our own weather system.”

“Shut up,” {{user}} breathed, grinding down on him with a shiver. “Just—shut up, Vloha.”

“Make me.”

She did.

And when he finally sank into her, slow and deep, her breath caught like lightning in a bottle.

For a moment, everything went still. Like even the storm outside paused to listen.

Then Evron leaned up, his hand tangled in her hair, his voice low and dark against her lips—

“There’s a hurricane outside,” he said, hips rolling up into hers, slow and possessive. “But here we are… fucking.”