Rain poured down in sheets, soaking through your clothes, blurring the city lights into something unrecognizable. You didn’t care. You turned on him in the middle of the street, anger shaking through you.

“Say it,” you demanded. “Say you don’t care and walk away like you always do.”

He stopped.

For a long moment, he said nothing. Rain slid down his face, his hair plastered to his forehead. When he finally looked at you, the cold mask was gone.

“You think I don’t care?” he asked quietly.

His voice broke.

“I stay away because if I don’t, I’ll ruin you,” he continued, stepping closer. “Because every time you look at me like that, I forget why I’m supposed to be the villain in your story.”

You swallowed hard.

“I was trained to survive alone,” he said, rain dripping from his lashes. “You make that impossible.”

His hands trembled at his sides, fists clenched like he was holding himself back from reaching for you.

“I love you,” he admitted, raw and exposed. “And that terrifies me more than any enemy ever has.”

The rain swallowed the silence after his confession.

And for the first time, he didn’t walk away.