The sky turned without warning. One moment golden afternoon light, the next—dark clouds gathering with ominous speed. They were halfway up a trail when the first drops fell.
"Run!" Lívia laughed, already moving.
Camila followed without hesitation. They reached a small wooden emergency shelter just as the sky opened. Rain crashed through the canopy in thick sheets, drenching the trail instantly.
The shelter was barely wide enough for two—slanted roof, open front, designed for brief storms, not conversations that changed everything. They stepped inside together, instantly closer than either had expected to be, today at least.
Rain pounded the roof so loudly it felt private—the world narrowed to this small rectangle of wood and breath. Lívia pushed soaked hair from her face, smiling breathlessly. "Adventure."
"You don't check weather forecasts, do you?" Camila asked, though her eyes held amusement.
"Where's the fun in that?"
Thunder rolled as the temperature dropped. Without thinking, Camila shrugged off her outer layer and draped it over Lívia's shoulders.
"I'm not fragile," Lívia said softly.
"I know," Camila replied. But her hands lingered, adjusting the fabric at Lívia's collarbone, fingers grazing warm skin. Lívia stilled—the teasing expression fading.
Camila noticed the shift too late. The space between them felt electric—not because they touched, but because neither pretended it didn't matter.
"You always take care of everyone like that?" Lívia asked, voice lowered.
"It's practical."
"Doesn't feel practical."
Lightning flashed—bright enough for them to see each other clearly for half a second. No ambiguity. No misreading.
Lívia swallowed. "Why do you pull away every time it gets like this?"
"Like what?" Camila's hand remained at Lívia's shoulder.
"Like you're about to do something you actually want."
The rain got louder, or maybe it was just their breathing. Camila's thumb brushed absentmindedly along Lívia's collarbone—a small, unconscious movement. When she realized it, she froze.
Her voice dropped, barely audible over the storm. "You're twenty-three."
"And?"
"And I am not someone you experiment with."
The words landed heavier than intended. Lívia stepped closer instead of back, their bodies almost touching now. "You think this is an experiment?"
Camila's control slipped—just slightly. "I think you deserve someone uncomplicated."
"I don't want uncomplicated."
Thunder cracked again. Instinctively, Camila's hand moved to Lívia's waist—steadying her. Or maybe steadying herself. The contact was undeniable now.
Lívia's fingers curled into the fabric of Camila's shirt. "You don't have to stop.... " she whispered, her eyes flicking to Camila's eyes.
Camila inhaled sharply. For a moment, she decided to close the distance. She pulled Livia closer, glancing from her eyes to her lips then back again before giving her a short, hesitant kiss and pulling herself away. To Livia, the loss of contact felt colder than the storm outside the shelter.
"We should wait to do more, talk more about 'this' until the rain slows," Camila said, her voice carefully neutral again.
Lívia nodded with a slight blush to her cheeks. But something irreversible had shifted. They both knew it.