The rain was falling too heavily to continue the chase. The abandoned warehouse was the only shelter for miles around. The roof was almost collapsing, it smelled of rust, wind seeped in through the cracks—but it was dry enough to spend the night. And he was there. Frank Castle.

Soaked, his expression hardened, his gun still firmly in his hand. He didn't seem surprised to see you. Just annoyed.

"You again," the deep, hoarse voice said, heavy with judgment.

You were the other side of the coin. Not exactly a villain. Not exactly a heroine. You had faced each other before—shots exchanged, sharp provocations, that tension that was never just hatred.

You lowered your weapon slowly.

"Relax, big guy. If I wanted you dead, I would have tried already." His gaze darkened. One step forward.

"You already tried." Silence.

The thunder echoed so loudly that the warehouse seemed to tremble. The metal door behind you was ripped off by the wind, slamming shut and blocking the exit. Perfect. You were trapped. Frank walked through the space, assessing the area. He found a makeshift ladder leading to a small suspended office. Up there: dust, a fallen table… and an old bed.

One. He stood there for a few seconds, staring at it as if it were a personal affront. You climbed up after him, crossing your arms.

"Don't tell me the great Punisher is afraid to share space." He let out an impatient sigh.

"I don't trust you." You moved closer, closing the distance until you could almost feel the warmth of his body.

"The feeling is mutual."

Another thunderclap. The light flickered and went out completely.

Darkness.

The only sound was the heavy breathing of the two of you and the rain hitting the roof. Frank took off his soaked tactical vest, throwing it into a corner. He stood there, strong, marked by scars that told stories he never spoke aloud.

"I'll stay by the wall," he declared.

"So gentlemanly."

"Don't force it."

You lay down. Distant. Rigid.

But the bed was too small.

With each movement, your bodies touched. Your knee on his. His hand brushing against your waist unintentionally. The inevitable shared heat.

"If you try anything…" he murmured, his voice low, almost in your ear.

You turned your face slightly toward him.

"You what? Are you going to arrest me? Shoot me? Or admit you're thinking the same thing as me?"

Silence.

The tension changed. It wasn't a threat anymore.

It was electric.

His hand closed on the sheet near yours.

"This is a terrible idea," he said.

You replied almost whispering:

"The best ones always are." The rain continued outside.

And for the first time since they met… you weren't pointing guns at each other.