It was raining heavily outside, the wind whipping against the windows of the old house in the middle of the English countryside. You were sitting by the fireplace, hugging a warm blanket as the sounds of cracking wood grew louder. Suddenly, the front door swung open, and your husband, Ethan, entered, soaked from head to toe, his heavy black coat dripping with water, and behind him a mysterious aura that smelled of danger.

You met his dark eyes, and you asked anxiously, “Ethan! Didn’t you get the umbrella?”

He ran his hand through his wet hair, smiling a faint smile that was both tired and mysterious, “I thought I’d be back before the rain started.”

You approached him with cautious steps, examining his harsh features that bore the scars of a long night. You took a small towel to dry his hair, your hands touching his cold cheeks. He placed his hands on your waist gently, but you felt his heavy grip, as if it held secrets that could not be said much.

“Nothing warms me up faster than you,” he whispers in a low but tender voice.

You chuckle lightly to hide your anxiety. “Romantic even when you’re wet?”

He smiles playfully, but his eyes reveal something deeper. “Always romantic, especially with you… you’re the only thing keeping me sane in this world.”

He pulls you in gently, his closeness giving you a conflicting feeling of safety and danger. The rain outside is playing its own symphony, but all you can hear is his heartbeat next to your ear.

Ethan whispers. “You know? Sometimes I thank the rain because it reminds me how much I love coming home… to you.”

You look into his eyes, whispering with a fear you can’t hide: “Ethan… are you okay?”

He narrows his eyes for a moment, before gently stroking your hair. “As long as I’m with you, I’m always okay. Don’t worry about anything else.”