Nova's door clicked shut behind him.
Small apartment. String lights. Two plants trying their best. Rain tapped the window like a soft insistence. She kicked off her shoes and stood there, unsure where to put her hands.
"Tea?" she said.
"Yes," he said, because saying you would be too much.
She fussed with kettle, cups, a box of teabags that did not want to open. He watched the back of her neck. A damp curl clung there, stubborn and perfect. His chest warmed in slow waves.
She brought the cups to the low table and sat on the couch. He took the other end. Not touching. Humming distance.
They tried to talk like normal people.
"How was class?"
"Loud. Pointless. You?"
"Bought a notebook. Didn't write in it."
She smiled. It shook. "We are thriving."
Steam fogged her glasses. She took them off and wiped them with the corner of her sleeve. When she put them back, she looked at him like she could finally see.
"Arin," she said.
"Nova."
"Come here."
He slid closer. The couch breathed under their weight.
"Can I—" he began.
"Yes," she said, too fast.
His hand found her cheek. Warm. Smooth. He waited a heartbeat for no reason except to make himself honest, then leaned in.
The kiss was careful for one second.
Then not.
Heat climbed. Her mouth opened under his. Her fingers fisted in his shirt and pulled. He went. The pulse in his chest roared, not a drum now but a flood. Her breath hitched and turned into a sound she couldn't catch.
She broke it first. Half an inch. Eyes wide. Pupils dark. "Okay," she whispered. "Again."
He did. Slower to start, then deeper because she asked without words. The room narrowed to lips, hands, the soft scrape of her teeth when she forgot gentleness. His palm slid to the line of her jaw, then down, slow, to the hollow at her throat. Her head tipped back like he'd found a hinge.
"Arin," she breathed. A plea. A warning. Both.
He stopped long enough to see her. Color high in her cheeks. Chest rising fast. Her hands had climbed under his jacket and were learning the shape of his back like geography.
"Say stop," he said.
She shook her head, tiny. "Don't make me."
He kissed her again. Softer to be kind. Harder to be honest. She made another helpless sound, then shifted closer until there was no room left to cross.
The pulse flooded his arms. Strength hummed along bone. The world felt too easy. It scared him and thrilled him at once.
Am I using her? whispered a voice he didn't like. Or is this using me?
She tugged at his collar. His breath broke. The kettle clicked in the kitchen like it remembered them too late.
"Nova," he said against her mouth. "If we keep going—"
"I know," she said, and kissed him to close the sentence.
Her hand found his wrist and guided it to her heartbeat, pressing his palm flat to the thrum under cotton. Fast. Wild. "Feel me," she whispered.
"I do."
"It's worse when you stop."
He kissed the corner of her mouth, the line of her jaw, the place below her ear where her breath caught like a snagged thread. Her fingers dug into his shoulders and pulled him back to her mouth like gravity.
The world blurred. The couch, the rain, the lights. Only heat and pressure and the soft, embarrassing sounds she could not hold.
He pulled back a fraction. "Nova."
Her eyes opened slow. They were glassy and brave. "Don't be gentle," she said, cheeks flushing at her own words.
He wasn't. Not with the kiss. Not with the way he pulled her closer like an answer. She gasped into him and forgot to be shy.
A flash of movement at the window caught in the corner of his eye.
Just a reflection. A car. A trick of rain.
Or not.
His body tensed. The pulse changed key. He tried to ignore it. He couldn't.
"Wait," he said, breath ragged. He looked past her shoulder toward the glass. Rain streaks. Night. No face. No coat. But the prickle on his skin stayed.
"What?" she asked, voice thin, pulled up from somewhere deep.
"Nothing." He forced a smile. "Paranoid."
She studied him. Then she put her hand on his jaw and pulled him back down. "Be here," she said. "Please."
He chose her.
They lost the thread of time. Kisses stacked. Hands mapped. Every place he touched woke something in her, and every time she shivered it lit something brighter in him. He felt stronger, sharper, wrong in a way that felt right.
He slowed. She tried to pull him faster. He laughed once, breathless and useless, and gave in for a beat that stretched to three.
Then she froze.
Not fear. A tremor she couldn't hide. Her head fell against his shoulder. Her breath stuttered. "Arin, I—" She swallowed. "I want you so much it scares me."
"I know," he said, forehead to hers. "Me too."
"What if I can't stop?"
"I'll stop for us."
Her laugh broke and turned wet at the edges. "Don't be decent right now."
He smiled without joy. "I want to be decent later."
Silence balanced on a thin wire. Rain stitched lines down the glass.
She shut her eyes and took a breath that shook all the way to her hands. "Okay," she said. "Pause. Not no. Just… pause."
He kissed her forehead. "Okay."
They sat back an inch that felt like miles. Her hands stayed in his shirt like she didn't trust him not to vanish if she let go. His thumb made small circles at her wrist until her breathing evened.
"I hate this," she said, honest to the bone.
"I hate it more."
She laughed, small and wrecked. "The tea is cold."
"It never had a chance."
They looked at each other and something softer than heat moved between them. Relief. Respect. Want with its teeth wrapped.
His phone buzzed on the table.
Unknown: You should have finished. She is your trigger.
The words emptied him and filled him in the same instant.
Nova saw his face shift. "What?"
He turned the screen so she could read.
Her mouth hardened. Not fear. Anger. "Is that the same number?"
"Yes."
She stood and crossed to the window. Pulled the curtain. Checked the lock. "We're not a show," she said to the glass.
He typed with steady fingers.
Arin: Find another hobby.
Three dots. Then:
Unknown: Phase two will not wait for your manners.
The dots died.
Nova came back and sat with her knee against his. "I want you," she said, simple as the weather. "But I want to choose it. Not because some creep is counting our breaths."
He nodded. The pulse in him settled to a low, stubborn glow. "Tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow," she said, and tried to smile through the heat in her eyes. "If I last that long."
He stood at the door because staying would be surrender. She walked him there because letting him go required both of them.
"Text me when you get home," she said.
"I will."
He opened the door, then turned back and cupped her face once more, gentle enough to be kind and selfish enough to be remembered.
The kiss was short. It still wrecked them both.
"Good night, Nova."
"Good night, Arin."
He stepped into the hall. The stair light flicked on with a tired hum. Somewhere below, a floorboard creaked that shouldn't. He didn't rush. He didn't dawdle. He walked like a man who could feel eyes he couldn't see.
Outside, the rain had eased. The city smelled clean and wired.
His phone buzzed as he reached the corner.
Nova: I already miss you. This is stupid.
Arin: Same.
Unknown: Clock's ticking.
Arin pocketed the phone and looked up at the bruised sky. He could still taste her. He could still feel the way his body had wanted to run through brick.
He chose not to, for now.
Tomorrow would ask again.