Chapter 3 : Rainy Night Stay

Tuesday. Again.

The storm started at five PM. Rain hammered my windows. Wind howled.

Weather app said it would last all night.

I checked the clock. 6:30 PM.

Lucas would be here soon.

I paced. Three steps to window. Three back.

Rain blurred the streetlights. Made everything liquid.

6:55 PM. Intercom buzzed.

I pressed the button. "Come up."

No answer. Just static.

I pressed again. "Lucas?"

His voice crackled through. Soaked with static. "Can''t... key''s not working..."

"What?"

"My key. It''s not... the dorm door..." His voice broke up. "Can I come up?"

I buzzed him in.

Footsteps on the stairs. Slower than usual.

I opened the door.

He stood there. Drenched.

Rainwater streamed from his hair. Down his face. His clothes clung to his frame. Showed every muscle.

"Sorry," he said. Teeth chattering. "Forgot my key. My brother''s out of town."

"Come in."

He stepped inside. Left a puddle on the floor.

"You''re soaked," I said.

"Observant." He tried to smile. Shivered instead.

"Let me get you a towel."

I went to the bathroom. Grabbed two towels. When I returned, he was still standing in the entryway. Dripping.

"Here." I handed him a towel.

He took it. Rubbed his hair. The motion made his shirt pull tighter.

"You should change," I said. "You''ll catch cold."

"I don''t have other clothes."

"I can lend you something."

He nodded. "Thanks."

I went to my bedroom. Found an old t-shirt and sweatpants. Brought them back.

"Bathroom''s down the hall," I said.

He took the clothes. Disappeared.

I heard water running. The shower.

He was using my shower.

I stood in the living room. Listened to the water. The storm outside.

This was different. This wasn''t tutoring.

This was... something else.

He emerged fifteen minutes later. Hair damp. Wearing my clothes.

They were too small for him.

The t-shirt stretched across his shoulders. Showed the shape of his chest. The sweatpants sat low on his hips. Showed the V of muscle leading down.

"Better?" I asked.

"Much." He ran a hand through his hair. "Thanks."

We stood there. Awkward.

The storm raged outside.

"Should we...?" I gestured to the books.

"Actually," he said. "Could we just... not tonight? The storm''s making it hard to focus."

I hesitated. "Okay."

"Got any wine?" he asked. Smiled. That young smile. "To warm up?"

I had wine. A bottle Chris brought last month. Unopened.

"Sure," I said.

I got the bottle. Two glasses. We sat on the sofa. Not at opposite ends. Closer.

I poured. Red wine. Dark like blood.

He took a sip. Closed his eyes. "Good."

We drank in silence. Listened to the storm.

Lightning flashed. Lit the room white for a second. Thunder followed. Loud.

He jumped. Spilled a little wine.

"Sorry," he said. "Storms make me... jumpy."

"Why?"

"My family." He looked at his glass. "We have a... history with storms."

"What kind of history?"

"Old stories." He took another sip. "My grandfather died in a storm. Lightning strike."

"I''m sorry."

"He was out hunting." Lucas''s voice went distant. "They found him three days later. Burned."

"That''s terrible."

"My family doesn''t handle loss well." He met my eyes. Gold flecks dim in the low light. "We get... possessive. After that, my father became strict. My brother followed."

"Sebastian."

"Yes." Lucas smiled. Bitter. "He thinks he''s protecting me. By controlling everything."

"That must be hard."

"It is." He leaned back. Stretched. My t-shirt rode up. Showed a strip of stomach. Lean. Muscled. "Sometimes I just want to... run. You know?"

"I know."

"Do you?" He looked at me. "Do you ever want to run, Mr. Wilson?"

"Sometimes."

"From what?"

I thought about it. The years of hiding. The careful life. The loneliness.

"From myself," I said.

He nodded. Like he understood. "Me too."

We drank more wine. The bottle emptied.

The storm intensified. Lightning flashed every minute. Thunder shook the windows.

"Scary," Lucas said. Voice soft.

"You''re scared of storms?"

"A little." He looked younger suddenly. Sixteen. Vulnerable. "Can I... stay here tonight? Until it passes?"

I should have said no. Should have called him a cab. Should have done anything but what I did.

"Yes," I said. "You can stay."

His smile was grateful. Real. "Thank you."

We finished the wine. Sat in the dark. Only lightning for light.

He told me more about his family. The strict rules. The expectations. The pressure to be perfect.

"I''m not perfect," he said. "No matter how hard I try."

"Nobody is."

"My family expects it." He looked at his hands. "Sometimes I think they want me to be something I''m not."

"What do they want you to be?"

He hesitated. "Something... else."

Lightning flashed. Lit his face. Gold eyes bright.

For a second, I saw something in them. Something not human. Something wild.

Then it was gone.

"Sorry," he said. "I''m talking too much."

"You''re not."

"I am." He stood. Stretched. My t-shirt pulled tight. Showed everything. "I should let you sleep."

"You can take my bed," I said. "I''ll take the sofa."

"No, I can''t—"

"It''s fine." I stood. "Really."

We stood close. In the dark. Lightning flashed.

I could feel his body heat. Smell the forest scent on him. Stronger than ever.

"Thank you," he said. Voice low.

"You''re welcome."

He reached out. Touched my arm. Just a touch. Fingers on my skin.

Warm.

Then he pulled back. "Goodnight, Mr. Wilson."

"Goodnight, Lucas."

He went to my bedroom. Closed the door.

I stood in the living room. Listened.

Heard him moving around. The bed creaking.

Then silence.

I lay on the sofa. Stared at the ceiling.

The storm raged. Lightning. Thunder.

I couldn''t sleep.

My mind raced. Lucas in my bed. Wearing my clothes. Smelling like forest.

This was wrong. So wrong.

But my body didn''t care. My body remembered his touch. His heat. His scent.

I got up. Paced.

Went to the window. Watched the storm.

Lightning lit the sky. For a second, I saw my reflection in the glass.

Face tense. Eyes hungry.

I turned away.

Went to the kitchen. Got water. Drank it.

Heard a sound from the bedroom.

A low moan.

I froze.

Another moan. Muffled.

Was he...?

I walked to the bedroom door. Stopped. Listened.

Silence.

Then a sigh. Soft.

I put my hand on the door. Didn''t open it.

Stood there. Listening.

Breathing on the other side. Steady. Deep.

He was sleeping.

I went back to the sofa. Lay down.

Closed my eyes.

Tried to sleep.

Couldn''t.

The storm faded around midnight. Rain softened to a drizzle.

Silence settled.

Then I heard it.

The bedroom door opening.

Footsteps.

He came into the living room. Stood by the sofa.

I kept my eyes closed. Pretended to sleep.

He knelt beside me. I could feel his presence. His heat.

He reached out. Brushed hair from my forehead.

Fingers gentle.

Then he leaned close. Whispered. So soft I almost didn''t hear it.

"I''m sorry."

A kiss on my forehead. Light. Brief.

Then he was gone. Back to the bedroom.

Door closed.

I lay there. Forehead burning where he''d kissed me.

Sorry for what?

***

Morning.

I woke to sunlight. The storm had passed.

The apartment was quiet.

I sat up. Looked at the bedroom door.

Closed.

I got up. Made coffee.

He emerged as it finished brewing. Dressed in his own clothes again. Dry now.

"Morning," he said.

"Morning. Coffee?"

"Please."

I poured him a cup. He took it. Drank.

"Thanks for letting me stay," he said.

"Of course."

"I should go. My brother''s back today."

"Okay."

He finished his coffee. Put the cup in the sink.

At the door, he paused. "Next week?"

"Next week," I said.

He smiled. That transformative smile. "Good."

He left.

I stood in the empty apartment. Sunlight streaming in.

The scent of forest lingered.

And on my forehead, the ghost of a kiss.

I walked to the bathroom. Looked in the mirror.

Touched my forehead.

Sorry for what?

***

Later that day. My phone buzzed.

Chris: We need to talk. Now.

Me: Can''t. Grading.

Chris: It''s important.

Me: What?

Chris: I did some digging. On your student.

My stomach dropped.

Me: What did you do?

Chris: Lucas Blackwood. His family... they''re not normal.

Me: What do you mean?

Chris: They''re wealthy. Old money. But there''s something off. Records are sealed. Police reports disappear. People who ask questions... have accidents.

Me: You''re being paranoid.

Chris: Am I? Check this.

He sent a link. A news article from five years ago.

"Local Journalist Disappears After Investigating Blackwood Family Business"

I clicked. Read.

The journalist had been looking into the Blackwoods. Disappeared. Never found.

Coincidence.

Had to be.

Me: This doesn''t prove anything.

Chris: It proves they''re dangerous. Stay away from him, Aiden.

I didn''t reply.

Looked at the article again.

The journalist''s photo. Young. Smiling.

Gone.

I closed the browser.

Stood up. Paced.

Dangerous.

Lucas had said it himself.

I''m dangerous.

I believed him now.

But it didn''t change anything.

If anything, it made me want him more.