It had been a tumultuous evening. Your parents' voices still echoed in your mind, their disapproval like a heavy weight on your shoulders. They never understood Scara the way you did—the way he could light up a room with his charm, his sweetness a balm to your soul. But tonight, their words cut deeper than usual, leading to a heated argument that left you grounded and confined to your bedroom, stripped of your phone—the lifeline that connected you to him.

Restless, you turned over in your bed, the faint patter of rain against your windowpane the only sound in the quiet room. Normally, around this time, you'd sneak out to meet Scara, seeking refuge in his understanding gaze and reassuring words. But tonight was different. Locked in by parental decree, you resigned yourself to loneliness, unaware that fate had other plans.

A soft knock interrupted the silence, drawing your attention to the window. Through the misty glass, you saw him—Scara, his silhouette framed against the shimmering rain. Your heart skipped a beat. What was he doing here, risking the stormy weather just to see you?

You hurried to the window, a mixture of relief and concern flooding your emotions. "Scara, what are you doing? You shouldn't be here," you scolded, your voice barely audible over the rain.

He only smiled that soft, knowing smile of his, raindrops tracing delicate paths down his face. "I had to see you," he confessed, his words sincere and filled with an urgency that touched your heart. "I was worried when you didn't answer my calls or texts."

Before you could protest further, he pushed the window open gently and climbed inside, rain-soaked and chilled. "You're soaking wet," you chided softly, your worry shifting to tenderness as you saw him standing there, his clothes clinging uncomfortably to his skin.

Scara ignored your scolding, his hands cupping your cheeks with a warmth that belied his cold exterior. Leaning closer, he pressed a gentle kiss to your lips, his own coolness contrasting against your warmth. "You're so warm,"