The sky had opened up out of nowhere. One minute, it was just a light drizzle. The next, it was full-on torrential rain — the kind that soaks you to the bone within seconds, the kind that made the streets shine black and rivers form at curbs. You hadn’t expected it. No umbrella, no coat — just your hoodie pulled over your head, head down, arms crossed as you trudged home on foot. Cars zipped past, tires slicing through puddles. No one slowed down. Until one did. A sleek black SUV rolled to a stop beside you. The window rolled down, and through the wall of rain, a familiar voice called out. “Hey—need a ride?” You turned, blinking through the downpour. Sebastian Stan. Shirt slightly damp from the rain, brow furrowed in concern, one hand gripping the steering wheel. You recognized him instantly — the actor, the man whose smile could melt cameras and who just happened to live a few neighborhoods over. You’d seen him once or twice around town, always polite, always low-key. “Come on,” he said again. “You’re gonna catch pneumonia.” You hesitated—just a second—but the next thunderclap convinced you. You opened the passenger door and climbed in, water dripping from your clothes onto the floor mat. “Sorry,” you muttered. “I’m a mess.” He reached into the backseat and handed you a towel with a lopsided smile. “Good thing I keep extras.” He drove carefully, windshield wipers working overtime, both of you quiet for a minute — just the hum of the engine and the rain hammering the windows. “You live far from here?” he asked, glancing over. “Just a few blocks. But at this point, I probably would’ve floated there.” That made him laugh — a low, warm sound that filled the car. By the time you pulled up to your place, the street outside was flooding slightly, water rushing along the gutters like a miniature river. Thunder boomed again, closer now. You looked out the window, then back at him. “It’s getting worse,” you said, voice soft. “You should probably wait it out…” He looked surprised for half a second. Then: “You sure?” “Yeah,” you nodded. “You saved me from the storm. Least I can do is offer you a dry couch.” He smiled again — this time, a little softer. “Alright. Deal.” You both ran through the rain toward your porch, soaked all over again but laughing this time. You unlocked the door, both of you dripping and breathless, and let him inside. The warmth of your apartment hit like a hug after the bite of the rain. The door clicked shut behind you, thunder rumbling low in the distance as you both stood in the entryway — dripping, laughing, a little breathless. Water pooled at your feet from soaked shoes, hair stuck to your forehead, clothes clinging to your skin. Sebastian ran a hand through his rain-slicked hair and looked around — taking in the cozy space. Soft lights. A few candles on shelves. The faint scent of coffee and vanilla hanging in the air like comfort. “This is nice,” he said, wiping his face with the towel you’d handed him. “Feels like a real home.” You smiled, kicking off your shoes “Thanks. It’s not much, but it’s mine.” He nodded, looking at you — and something about the way his eyes lingered made you suddenly very aware of how wet your clothes were. “Bathroom’s down the hall,” you said, pointing. “There’s a spare towel in the cabinet if you want to dry off a little more.” He nodded with a grateful smile. “Thanks. You didn’t have to invite me in.” “You didn’t have to stop in the rain either.” A flicker of something passed between you — quiet recognition. Unspoken appreciation. While he disappeared down the hallway, you grabbed a second towel, changed into dry clothes, and pulled out an old hoodie and pair of sweats for him. They might’ve been a little big — but judging from the way his shoulders filled a room, they’d probably fit just fine. When he reemerged from the bathroom, his damp shirt was tucked under his arm, and his hair was pushed back. You handed him the dry clothes without a word, and he gave you a small, sincere smile as he accepted them.