The rains had not yet come, but the air already carried the heaviness of the season. Adrian noticed it at dawn, when he returned from patrol and slipped through the village toward the forest's edge. The sky was swollen with clouds, the wind smelled of wet earth.
That was when he saw it.
Her roof.
From the treeline, he could see the jagged shadow where one of the old nipa panels had cracked. The wood beneath was exposed, vulnerable. A few days of heavy rain would rot the beams.
He clenched his jaw. She probably hadn't noticed. She had been too busy with hospital work, too busy avoiding him since the dream. He told himself to ignore it. To walk past. To let her handle her own affairs.
But his feet betrayed him.
By nightfall, he was back, circling the small house like a restless wolf. A hammer and a handful of nails lay in his bag—he had brought them without even realizing. He climbed the fence silently, his movements practiced. The roof groaned faintly under his weight as he pulled himself up. He crouched low, inspecting the gap, already calculating how to seal it until he could repair it properly.
"Adrian?!"
The voice snapped through the dark. He froze.
She stood in the yard below, a flashlight in her hand, its beam cutting across him like a blade. Her hair was loose, her eyes sharp with shock and fury.
"What the hell are you doing?" she demanded.
Slowly, he lowered himself back to the ground. He brushed dust from his shirt as though nothing were amiss. "Your roof. There's a hole in it. I thought I'd check before the rains come."
Emma's eyes blazed. "That's none of your business!"
His jaw tightened. "It will be my business when the house floods or the beams rot. I was trying to help."
"I didn't ask for your help," she snapped, stepping closer, the flashlight trembling in her grip. "You can't just lurk around my property like some—some intruder! You think you can just walk in, climb around, and act like you know everything about me?"
His patience cracked. "You think I don't?" His voice rose, deep and raw. "I know more about you than you want to admit. You walk around pretending you don't see it, pretending you don't feel it. But you do."
Her breath hitched, but she held her ground. "You're arrogant. And invasive. And—"
"And what?" He stepped closer, towering over her, the beam of the flashlight catching the sharp lines of his face. "Say it."
Her throat worked. The words slipped out before she could stop them. "You scare me."
The silence that followed was deafening.
His chest rose and fell heavily. For a heartbeat, the fury in his eyes softened into something else—something wilder, more dangerous. His restraint broke.
His hand cupped her cheek, rough and trembling, and then his lips crashed against hers.
The world tilted. Emma's body stiffened, every nerve flaring, her mind screaming protest. But her heart—her heart betrayed her. The kiss burned through her like fire, fierce and desperate, years of longing and denial condensed into one furious spark.
Her fingers curled into his shirt, pulling him closer, not away. The flashlight slipped from her hand and clattered to the ground, its beam rolling uselessly across the grass.
His other hand gripped her waist, anchoring her against him as though afraid she would vanish. She parted her lips without thinking, answering his hunger with her own. The taste of him was bitter and sweet, like black coffee after a sleepless night.
For a moment, there was nothing else—no roof, no house, no storm waiting to break. Only this. Only them.
When they finally broke apart, both were gasping, their foreheads pressed together, trembling.
"Emma…" His voice was ragged, almost pained. "If I don't stop, I won't be able to."
Her lips tingled, her chest ached, her mind reeled. "Then stop."
"I can't," he whispered. "Gods help me, I can't."
She shivered, torn between fear and desire, her hands still fisted in his shirt. The weight of the kiss pressed on her, heavy and exhilarating all at once.
And then, with visible effort, he pulled back. His fists clenched at his sides as though he had to physically hold himself together.
The silence roared louder than their argument had.
Emma bent down, retrieving the flashlight with shaking hands. When she looked up again, he was already a step away, his eyes dark and unreadable.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small folded leaf tied with twine. He pressed it into her hand.
"For the roof," he muttered. "It'll keep out the rain until you fix it."
Before she could answer, before she could breathe, he turned and slipped into the shadows, swallowed by the forest.
Emma stood alone in the yard, the leaf trembling in her palm, her lips still burning with the memory of his kiss.