The sound of the rain had changed.
Leo sensed it before he even understood why, the rhythm was the same, but beneath it, something else.
A breath. A breath that broke halfway through.
He turned sharply.
Naiara was on the ground, kneeling, her hands trembling, one clutching her side, the other pressed against her throat as if the air had suddenly disappeared. Her wide eyes, her chest heaving, searching for something that wasn't there.
Leo's heart stopped for a second, then slammed back to life.
"Naiara!"
He reached her in two strides, kneeling in front of her but not touching her. He didn't dare. He knew a panic attack when he saw one; he'd seen it in soldiers, in civilians, in eyes that had witnessed too much.
But on her, it was different. It was like watching something he wanted to protect… crumble.
"Breathe with me," he said softly, voice low, steady. "Look at me. You're okay. Just breathe with me, all right?"
She tried to lift her gaze, but her pupils darted wildly. Her shoulders jerked, her breaths came in shallow bursts, as if each one burned her from the inside.
Leo leaned closer, his knees sinking into the wet ground. He exaggerated a deep inhale, hoping she would mimic him.
"Like that. Good… again. Look at me."
Slowly, her breathing began to follow his. Not calm, not steady but less broken.
After a few minutes, Naiara's hands dropped to her lap. Her head bowed.
The rain and her tears had long since become the same thing.
"Better?" Leo asked quietly.
She didn't answer, only nodded.
"Come inside," he said. "You'll get sick out here."
He stood and offered his hand, but she didn't take it. She rose on her own, defiant, and walked toward the house. He followed a few steps behind, eyes fixed on her trembling shoulders.
Once inside, he shut the door and paused.
The scent of rain, skin, fear, too much all at once.
He grabbed a towel from the counter and approached her slowly.
"You'll catch a cold," he murmured, his voice rougher than usual.
He moved to drape the towel over her shoulders, but the instant the fabric brushed her skin, she froze.
She spun around, eyes wide. Their gazes met.
In hers, Leo saw panic. Not just fear, something older, deeper.
The same terror he'd seen in women after an explosion, in people who had been broken once and had never fully healed.
Something inside him cracked.
A low, guttural sound rumbled in his chest, that same "hum" that had become his language with her, the one that replaced words when they weren't enough.
"I can't stand that you're afraid of me," he said, voice rough, barely above a whisper, but filled with fury and pain.
He took a step forward. She didn't move.
"I don't want to scare you, Tigna," he added, softer this time. "That's the last thing I want."
Naiara lowered her eyes. Her hands trembled, not from fear, not entirely.
It was confusion. Attraction. Anger.
Her heartbeat pounded so loud she could feel it in her ears.
She took a step toward him.
She didn't know why. Maybe to challenge him. Maybe to understand why the fear felt so much like longing.
"Then don't scare me," she whispered.
Leo looked at her. His grey-green eyes darkened, swallowing the light of the room.
The towel slipped from his hands and fell to the floor.
His right hand clenched into a fist on the table, knuckles pale and strained.
Naiara stared at him.
She could see the tension in every line of his body, the way he held himself back.
She could've stepped away, but didn't.
Instead, she slowly laid her hand over his.
Leo met her gaze. That single touch undid him. His breath caught.
In one swift, uncontrolled motion, he moved closer, and suddenly, she was right there.
His lips hovered just a breath away from hers.
He stopped.
Every muscle screamed to close the distance, but something stronger held him back.
His jaw tightened, the veins in his neck stood out.
"Damn it…" he muttered, pulling back as if the act itself hurt.
Naiara stayed still.
He was a step away now, soaked, furious, beautiful.
Her heart pounded against her ribs, chaotic, desperate, alive.
"I don't want to scare you, Tigna. Stay back," he said again, voice raw.
She met his gaze, searching for the courage Clara had given her, that voice telling her not to let fear make her choices.
"And if I come closer?" she asked.
The words came out soft, but steady.
Leo shut his eyes as if the question had struck him physically.
When he opened them again, they were a storm.
That deep, guttural sound escaped his chest again, not a word, but a surrender.
In a quick, sharp gesture, he caught her wrist.
Not hard, just urgent.
Then he looked at her, waiting, watching for fear. But she didn't move. She didn't pull away.
Their heartbeats filled the silence between them like a distant drum.
For a long second, neither of them breathed.
Then he brought his hand to her face, slowly, measuring the movements.
She let herself be touched. His fingers went down her neck, passing through her arm. Her breathing increased with every touch of him.
He approached her lips whispering to her: "stop me" but she didn't. He stood for a moment with his mouth against her lips, panting.
With one arm he wrapped her and brought her closer to him. She whispered in his mouth: "I need to trust". Those words broke in his grip, he ran his thumb over her lower lip and felt her body tremble, not of fear but of desire.
That was the signal he was waiting for. He gently rested his lips on hers and that contact was like an electric shock that crossed his soul. She wasn't just a girl, she was something else. That kiss, from sweet became more and more daring, desperate.
He looked into her eyes, lost in a vortex that no longer feared the rules, that no longer respected the roles.
He needed to feel her... she gasped while he kissed her on the neck, then moved further down, always with his eyes anchored in hers.
He tried to lift her dress but she stiffened, an imperceptible movement but he noticed it. He stopped, returning to kiss her, with more and more urgency. Then he turned her with the shoulders against his chest, she let him do it. He brought a finger to her mouth and she kissed it.
He stroked her whole body with the palm of his hand to the end of her dress, then lifted it until he found the edge of her panties.
With delicate movements, as if asking permission for every inch he caressed, he put his hand inside her panties and when he felt how much she wanted him, he made that sound, that "hum" of pleasure and admiration that drove her crazy. He began to give her pleasure with his fingers, touching her clitoris until she moaned with pleasure.
He was panting in her ears as he kissed her neck and the more he gasped, the more she enjoyed. Her knees began to tremble, he made her lean against the table without stopping giving her pleasure. With the other hand, he uncovered her breasts and began to massage her nipple with two fingers.
Her body began to tremble all over and with one hand she clung to the back of his neck, turning her head and looking for his lips. The tremor became impetuous, her breath rattled, splitting into many small moans of pleasure stronger and stronger until orgasm, a wave that shattered against his lips.
He kissed her neck, she was still panting and shaken by intermittent tremors. Then he turned her in front of him and kissed her deeply, a kiss that screamed desire but also pain. They stayed like this, embraced, for a few minutes that seemed eternal, looking into each other's eyes without speaking.
She spoke: "excuse me first, I'm not ready, I think." He ran his thumb over her cheek, then said: "You deserve someone who worships you every day." Then he shook his head, as if torn between two forces: "but it can't be me, Tigna." He left. She left her there, alone and panting and two hot tears furrowed her face without asking permission.