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Rain sucks.
It's wet.
It's cold.
It turns all your socks into betrayal sponges.
Romance movies lie about it. They romanticize it — like kissing in the middle of a thunderstorm is somehow cute instead of a ticket to pneumonia.
But I digress.
---
I didn't bring an umbrella.
Which is, obviously, my fault.
But I'll blame weather apps, the betrayal of morning skies, and maybe God if I'm feeling dramatic.
So I'm standing outside the station after school. Backpack slung like a defeated samurai. Hair damp. Dignity gone.
And then…
"Wow," a voice says beside me. "You really are the type to challenge weather to a duel and lose."
---
I turn.
Hikari.
Hood up.
Umbrella tilted jauntily like it's an accessory, not protection.
Smirking like she invented rain.
---
"I thought you hated the rain," I say.
"I do," she replies. "It's disgusting. Everything sticks. Also, I almost fell like four times."
"You look like you fell three times already."
She gasps.
"Excuse you. This look is called 'accidental puddle chic.' You wouldn't understand."
"I really wouldn't."
---
She opens the umbrella wider.
"Come on, sock boy. I'll save you."
"From what?"
"Foot fungus. Emotional frostbite. Yourself."
---
I step under the umbrella with her.
Barely.
It's small.
More like a shield from shame than from rain.
Which means we're very, very close.
As in: shoulder brushing, shared breath, oh-god-don't-move-too-fast close.
---
"So," I say. "Nice weather we're not enjoying."
She snorts. "Romantic, isn't it?"
"No. I'm cold. My bag's wet. And you keep tilting the umbrella away from me."
"Because your head is huge and stealing the coverage."
"My head is perfectly normal."
"Says the boy with main-character skull energy."
---
We walk slowly.
Not because of the rain.
Because we don't want to get anywhere too fast.
Every few steps, her hand bumps mine.
Once.
Twice.
Then... it stays.
---
"Did you always walk like this?" she mutters.
"Like what?"
"Like you're scared your arm's going to offend someone."
"Sorry for being physically considerate."
She smirks. "I'm not someone. You're allowed to offend me."
"You make it sound so romantic."
---
We pass the record shop from our first date.
She slows down.
Remembers.
I do too.
She doesn't say anything.
Neither do I.
It's not nostalgia.
It's... reinforcement.
That all of this really happened.
That this is where we are now.
That she's still walking beside me.
---
Sudden gust.
Umbrella flips inside out.
She screams.
I nearly lose my balance.
She grabs my arm like it's a lifeline.
We're soaked in three seconds.
---
"This is the worst!" she yells over the wind.
"Agreed!"
"We look like drowned cats!"
"You always look like a drowned cat!"
"Then why'd you fall in love with one?!"
"I DON'T KNOW!"
---
We break into laughter.
Ugly, chaotic, embarrassing laughter.
Like the kind you'd try to edit out of a video but fail.
She looks up at me.
Hair clinging to her cheeks.
Mascara slightly smudged.
Eyes bright like the storm doesn't dare touch her anymore.
---
"You know," she says, wiping water from her brow, "if this were an anime, we'd kiss now."
"If this were an anime, we'd also be inside a bakery or something. Dry. Cozy. Plot-protected."
"True."
A beat.
"You wanna do it anyway?"
"Kiss?"
"No — eat soggy melon pan on a bench like wet raccoons."
I blink.
Then:
"...Yes to both."
---
We run to the station overhang.
Shake off the umbrella like survivors.
Sit on a bench, dripping and ridiculous.
She pulls out — somehow — two slightly damp melon pans.
Hands me one.
"This is our thing now," she says. "Bread and bad weather."
I accept it solemnly.
"Truly, a romance for the ages."
---
We eat in silence.
Then she scoots closer.
Holds my hand with fingers that are cold but steady.
"Still hate the rain," she says.
I nod. "Still hate mornings."
She leans against me.
"Still like you, though."
---
I glance sideways.
At the idiot girl who shoved earbuds in my life and turned trains into something worth waking up for.
"I kinda love us," I say.
Her smile curves, lazy and proud.
"Same."
---
We finish our bread.
The sky starts clearing — a little.
But we don't move.
We just sit.
Cold.
Happy.
Raccoons in love.
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