Chapter 6 – Shadows Between the Rain
The rain had finally slowed to a lazy drizzle when Aiden pulled Emma’s door shut behind him. The air still smelled of wet pavement and damp leaves, the kind of scent that clung to clothes long after the storm had passed. He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets and rolled his shoulders, pretending he didn’t feel the stiffness weighing down his limbs.
The ride home should have felt like freedom—the engine’s growl beneath him, the city lights smeared across rain-slick streets—but tonight it was different. His grip on the handlebars trembled more than usual, the vibration of the bike rattling his bones in a way he didn’t want to name. His chest ached when he leaned forward, a dull pressure that pulsed with every breath.
He gritted his teeth. Not now. Not when things are finally getting… better.
Emma’s laughter still echoed in his head, bright and unguarded, the sound of rain dripping from her hair as she spun in circles. She’d looked like pure light in that moment—ridiculous, drenched, beautiful. For the first time in years, Aiden had felt something loosen in his chest that wasn’t pain. He hadn’t smiled like that in a long time.
By the time he reached his apartment, fatigue pressed down like an invisible weight. He kicked the door shut behind him, dropped his helmet on the counter, and collapsed into the nearest chair. His breaths came shallow, uneven. For a second he let himself sit in the quiet, eyes closed, palms pressed hard against his knees as if bracing against something stronger than exhaustion.
Then he forced himself upright. He wouldn’t let weakness win. Not yet. Not where anyone could see. Especially not her.
---
Emma showed up the next morning.
She didn’t knock timidly—Emma never did anything timidly. Instead, she leaned on the buzzer until he answered, her voice muffled but unmistakably smug:
“Open up, hoodie thief.”
Aiden groaned under his breath. He hadn’t expected company. The apartment was a mess—gear sprawled across the floor, yesterday’s dishes still in the sink, laundry half-folded. He shoved a stray shirt under the couch with his foot before yanking the door open.
Emma stood there grinning, hair pulled into a messy ponytail, a paper bag dangling from her hand. She was still wearing his hoodie, the sleeves falling past her fingertips.
“You again,” Aiden said, leaning lazily against the frame. “Didn’t I just walk you home last night? Thought I’d earned at least a twenty-four-hour break.”
“You wish,” she shot back, brushing past him into the apartment like she owned the place. “You left too fast. I wasn’t finished tormenting you.”
He smirked, shutting the door. “Bold of you to assume I didn’t run away on purpose.”
She ignored him, scanning the apartment with wide eyes. His space wasn’t much—two small rooms, scuffed wooden floors, walls that had seen better years. The living room was scattered with pieces of his life: a battered leather jacket tossed over a chair, a cracked guitar leaning against the wall, motorcycle helmets lined up like soldiers on a shelf. A stack of books sat by the window, spines bent, pages marked with folded corners.
Emma’s gaze softened. “This is so you,” she murmured, wandering deeper. “Messy, reckless, a little dangerous-looking.”
“You forgot charming,” he said.
She snorted. “If that’s charm, you’re doing it wrong.”
Still, she smiled as she explored—fingers brushing the spines of his books, pausing at a dent in the wall shaped suspiciously like someone’s fist. She lifted an old photo frame from the counter, the glass cracked but still holding a faded picture of Aiden with his bike.
“You were what, seventeen here?” she asked.
“Sixteen.” His voice was gruff, but not unkind. “First bike I ever saved up for.”
Her eyes flicked to him. “Of course it was a bike. I should’ve guessed.”
He shrugged, but inside something shifted. Emma wasn’t supposed to see his world this closely. He liked her laughter, her stubbornness, her way of pulling him into storms—but his apartment was different. This was him, unmasked.
And then it almost unraveled.
She was still wandering when he caught sight of the envelope on his desk. White, unmarked, but damning. The beginning of a letter he’d been writing in pieces, late at night when he couldn’t sleep, words scrawled in case he ran out of time to speak them. For her.
Panic sparked. Before Emma turned back, he slid across the room, snatched the paper, and shoved it into the cupboard above the desk. His movements were quick, too quick, like a guilty man covering tracks.
Emma’s brows lifted. “What was that?”
“Nothing.” His smirk came fast, sharp. “Unless you’re suddenly nosy enough to dig through my cupboards?”
Her lips quirked. “Maybe I should.”
He met her gaze evenly, daring her. For a heartbeat, the air thickened—her curiosity brushing against the wall he’d built around his secrets. But then she laughed, letting it go.
“Fine. Keep your skeletons,” she teased. “I’m sure they’re all wearing leather jackets anyway.”
Relief slipped out as a chuckle. “You’d be surprised.”
She plopped onto his couch like she belonged there, pulling the paper bag onto her lap. “Anyway, I brought bribes. Croissants. You like those, right?”
“I like anything that isn’t burnt toast,” he said, dropping into the armchair across from her.
“Wow, such refined taste.” She broke a piece off and tossed it at him. It bounced off his shoulder.
He caught it before it hit the floor, smirking. “Your aim is tragic.”
“My aim is perfect,” she retorted. “You just have fast reflexes.”
“Don’t forget it.”
For a while, they ate in companionable silence. Emma’s presence filled the apartment in a way Aiden hadn’t expected—like sunlight cutting through dusty blinds, warming corners that had gone cold. He found himself watching her more than he should, the way she licked sugar from her fingertips, the way she tilted her head when she laughed.
And then he ruined it, almost.
When he stood to grab a drink, the room tilted. Just for a second, but enough to make him pause, hand braced against the counter. His vision swam, heat flooding his chest.
Emma frowned. “You okay?”
He straightened instantly, forcing a grin. “Yeah. Gravity just forgot how to Aiden for a second.”
She blinked, then burst out laughing. “That’s the dumbest excuse I’ve ever heard.”
“Dumb, but effective,” he said, sliding back into his chair as if nothing had happened.
She shook her head, still giggling. “You’re unbelievable.”
And that was that. She didn’t press. She never saw the tension in his jaw, the way his fingers curled too tightly around the glass, the subtle tremor in his hands.
---
By the time she left, the croissants were gone and the apartment felt strangely empty again.
At the door, Emma tugged the hoodie closer around herself. “Don’t wait up,” she teased. “I’ll return this when it stops being the coziest thing I’ve ever stolen.”
He leaned against the frame, arms crossed, smirk tugging at his lips. “So never, then.”
“Exactly.” She grinned. “See you tomorrow, daredevil.”
When the door shut behind her, silence pressed in again.
Aiden leaned his head back against the wood, eyes closed. For a long moment, he just breathed, letting the mask slip in the quiet. His chest ached, his body heavy, exhaustion crawling through every vein. He wanted to sit down, to rest—but instead he pushed himself toward the cupboard.
His hand brushed the folded paper inside. The unfinished letter waited, words half-written, truths unsaid.
Not yet, he told himself. She doesn’t need to know. Not while I can still make her laugh.
He shut the cupboard and turned away.
