Los Angeles wasn't known for its storms, but that night, the sky decided to make an exception.
It started as they left the rehearsal space, the air thick with a humidity June hadn't noticed until it shifted—sudden and electric, like the air before a concert starts. A faint rumble rolled in from the distance, almost gentle at first, as though the sky was clearing its throat.
"Was that thunder?" she asked, adjusting her bag over her shoulder.
Rhett tilted his head, pausing to look up at the bruised clouds above. "Either that, or the heavens are applauding my killer last chorus."
She smirked. "They're probably just warning the city you've unleashed me on it."
He turned to her, eyes glinting. "I like the sound of that."
They started walking, turning down a side street flanked by palm trees and shuttered boutiques. The sky rumbled again, louder now, a tremor in the clouds. Then came the first drop.
Just one.
Right on her cheekbone.
June reached up, startled. "Did a bird just—?"
"Nope," Rhett said, holding out his hand. Another drop hit his palm. "Rain."
Within seconds, it was pouring.
Not soft or hesitant, but downpouring—as if the storm had been waiting for them all day, and finally decided it couldn't wait anymore.
June shrieked, laughing, as they both broke into a run. Their feet splashed through shallow puddles forming along the sidewalk, their clothes quickly soaked, hair plastered to their faces. The warm summer air clashed beautifully with the cold, stinging rain, and it made every breath feel like a dare.
"This is so unfair!" she shouted, water dripping down her temples.
"This is so cinematic," Rhett shouted back, grinning like a boy unleashed from something heavy.
By the time they ducked under the awning of an old record store—closed for the night but offering a shallow roof—they were both panting, wet, and grinning so hard their cheeks hurt.
June leaned against the wall, wiping water from her eyes.
Her breath caught when she looked at him.
The rain had slicked his curls back, a few tendrils clinging to his forehead. His hoodie clung to him, soaked through, outlining the curve of his shoulders and the tension in his chest from laughing so hard. His eyes, usually so soft, now sparked with something else entirely—something wild and alive.
And he was looking at her like she was the only thing in the world that mattered.
Neither of them spoke for a long moment.
The rain created a wall around them, muffling the world. It was just them, and the storm, and the space between.
Rhett stepped forward, slow, his expression softening.
"June."
She shivered—not from cold, but anticipation.
He reached up, fingers brushing a strand of wet hair away from her face. His hand lingered near her cheek, thumb tracing a path just below her ear.
"I've wanted to kiss you since you sent me that sketch," he whispered. "The one where we were almost touching, but not."
Her heart thundered harder than the storm behind him. "That one scared me."
"Why?"
"Because I drew it before I ever knew what your hands felt like. But I wanted to know."
He exhaled, like the confession leveled him.
Their foreheads met first, the softest press of skin to skin. A breath. A pause.
Then—finally—their lips met.
It wasn't fireworks. It wasn't some orchestrated Hollywood scene.
It was better.
Because it was theirs.
It was the way he hesitated for half a second, giving her the choice.
It was the way she leaned in, fingers curling into the front of his hoodie, anchoring herself.
It was the breath they shared between movements, the slow deepening, the silent promise.
Their kiss was wet from the rain, warm from shared skin, and electric in the way two halves find the seam between them.
She made a quiet noise—surprised by how much she felt. How familiar it was, and yet how utterly new.
He pulled back slowly, his breath brushing her lips.
"Wow," he murmured.
She looked up, dazed, smiling. "Yeah. That was…"
"Everything?" he offered, voice shaky.
She nodded. "And something more."
The rain roared behind them, as if jealous.
He rested his forehead against hers. "You okay?"
"I'm kind of ruined," she whispered. "In the best way."
He kissed her again—this time gentler, shorter, like punctuation on a perfect sentence.
Then he took her hand, wet and cold and real, and pressed it to his chest. "This," he said. "This hasn't slowed down since I met you."
Her fingers trembled. "I didn't know how much I needed this. You. Until you were right here."
"And now?"
"Now I don't know how I'll ever go back to pretending pixels are enough."
He swallowed hard and pulled her close, wrapping both arms around her. They stood there, just holding each other as the storm began to ease, the hard curtain of rain softening into a gentler rhythm.
Around them, the city was slowly remembering how to breathe again.
But they didn't rush to leave.
Didn't care that they were soaked.
Didn't care about the schedule or the plan.
Because this—this was the moment they'd both been chasing for months.
Not just the kiss.
But what it meant.
The crossing of a boundary.
The choice to begin.
And as Rhett pressed one last kiss to the crown of her head, June closed her eyes and let the moment soak into her the way the rain had.
She had drawn him first.
He had sung her next.
But now, finally, they were writing something together.
Something real.
Something touched by thunder and sealed in rain.