The rain had stopped an hour ago, but the street still glistened like it was holding on to the memory of the storm. Rio stood at the doorway of your building, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a bouquet of tiger lilies. He knocked on the door seconds earlier, waiting until you cracked the door open.

You smelled him before he spoke: cedarwood, smoke, and something darker underneath. The scent that sticks to your jacket later, making people ask who you were with.

He looked up slow when you opened up, eyes skimming over you with that unreadable stillness he carried like a second skin. His gaze lingered on your mouth for half a breath too long, then flicked back to your eyes like he hadn’t done anything at all.

“Hey, mama.” His voice slid out warm, thick, the kind that settles in your chest. The corner of his mouth lifted in a spineless grin, but the smile didn’t match the softness. It was small, careful, almost private.

You’d known him long enough to understand one thing clearly: Rio didn’t show up for no reason. If he was here, waiting under the flickering hallway light like it was nothing, something had pulled him to you. Something he wouldn’t admit yet.

“You gon’ leave me out here or you gon’ let me see you?” he said, voice quieter now.