The rain didn't fall so much as lean on the world.
It pushed at my shoulders, dragged at my jacket, and turned the sidewalk into a mirror that couldn't stop trembling. Every streetlight smeared into long pale streaks across the wet asphalt. My flip-flops made that pathetic slap-slap noise that told everyone within ten meters I had no self-respect.
Yoshino walked two steps behind me, small enough that the curtain of rain almost swallowed her whole. Her hood was up, rabbit ears drooping from the weight of the water. She held her left arm close to her chest like she was guarding something precious.
Which, to her, probably was.
The puppet on her hand tilted its stitched face toward me like it was doing a full-body scan through the rain. It's button eye patch making it look like a little pirate.
I kept my grin on, lazy and harmless. It was the kind of grin you used when you didn't want people to see how tense you were under the skin.
"Just so we're clear," the puppet said, voice bright and suspicious in a way that sounded like it practiced, "we're only following you because the alternative is standing out here until we turn into a pair of shivering statues."
Yoshino's shoulders jumped at the puppet's loudness. She murmured something small under her breath that sounded like a quiet protest.
I angled my head back slightly to look at them without turning all the way. "That's a very poetic way to say you're accepting my generous hospitality."
The puppet snorted. "Generous? You looked like a homeless person. I didn't even think homeless big Bro had a House to live in."
I roll my eyes dramatically causing it to cross it's arms and huff in victory
Yoshino kept her gaze on the ground. Every time a car passed, her posture tightened like she expected the world to bite. I didn't press her. The fact that she was still behind me at all meant I'd done something right.
The rain was cold enough that my jacket was starting to feel like a damp towel thrown over my shoulders. I held the bag under it anyway, even though it was probably too late. I could already feel the bottom going soft.
"Why are you even walking in those?" the puppet asked suddenly.
I looked down at my feet. Grey flip-flops. Grey socks. Soaked. Miserable. "Because I'm a... free soul."
"You look like a Deadbeat."
"Also true."
We crossed the last intersection before my street. The neighborhood got quieter here—rows of houses, small gardens, the occasional bicycle leaning against a fence. It was the kind of place that looked like nothing dramatic had ever happened... which was exactly why I liked it.
Yoshino slowed when we turned onto my block. She looked up for the first time, eyes wide beneath the shadow of her hood. The puppet swiveled too, taking in the houses like it was checking for traps.
"See?" I said, like I was giving a tour. "Normal. Boring. Extremely non-threatening."
The puppet made a sound that could've been a laugh if it didn't carry so much distrust. "People who say they're non-threatening are usually threatening."
"That's why I didn't say just it," I replied. "I said the street was boring as well."
Yoshino's lips pressed together, like she didn't know whether to be relieved or more nervous.
My front steps were slick, water running off the eaves in thin streams. I climbed them carefully—flip-flops on wet concrete was a gamble—and fumbled with my keys.
The puppet leaned toward Yoshino. "If he tries anything weird, remember what we practiced."
Yoshino's eyes widened with alarm.
I paused mid-key-turn. "What did you practice?"
The puppet froze like it had been caught. "Nothing."
"That sounded like something."
"It was... breathing exercises," the puppet said quickly. "For stress."
"Oh." I nodded gravely. "Good. I support mental health."
The puppet made a noise that was definitely not approval.
I opened the door.
Warm air rolled out, smelling faintly like laundry detergent and... nothing else. No cooking. No voices. No lights left on.
Empty.
My grin twitched, but I kept it up. "Welcome to the extravagant domain of teenagers who shouldn't be allowed to live unsupervised."
Yoshino hovered at the threshold, rain dripping from the hem of her mantle. The puppet looked into the house like it expected a hidden camera crew.
"Shoes—" I started, then remembered I was wearing flip-flops. "Never mind. Everythings already wet. Just... come in before you get any more soaked."
Yoshino stepped inside, careful as a cat. The puppet followed, still pointed at me like I was a suspect.
I shut the door behind us, cutting off the sound of rain like flipping a switch. The quiet that replaced it felt heavy for a second. I hated that it did.
I shook my jacket out, sending droplets onto the entryway tile. Then I noticed Yoshino standing there, shoulders curled inward, water running down her hood in slow lines. She looked like she was trying to take up as little space as physically possible.
"Uh." I scratched the back of my head. "You can... dry off. I'll grab towels."
The puppet's head snapped toward me. "Towels?"
I nodded
Yoshino's gaze flicked up, then down again.
I moved slowly, deliberately. No sudden lunges, no looming. I'd learned the hard way that people who were scared didn't always need logic; they needed your body language to stop screaming at them.
I padded down the hallway and returned with two towels. One I handed out at arm's length like I was offering peace to a wild animal.
Yoshino hesitated. The puppet leaned toward her and whispered something I couldn't quite hear.
Then Yoshino took the towel, fingers trembling a little, and wrapped it around her shoulders.
The puppet's stitched mouth angled upward. "See? He's house-trained."
I blinked at it. "That's... not a compliment."
"It's an observation."
I dropped my own towel over my hair and started rubbing it dry. "Okay. Ground rules. Rule one: you don't need to stand by the door like you're planning an escape route."
Yoshino flinched, like I'd said something wrong.
I lifted a hand quickly. "Not because I'm trapping you. I just... you'll get cold."
The puppet's tone softened—barely, but enough that I noticed. "She's just cautious."
"I can tell," I said.
Yoshino's mouth moved, and a tiny voice came out. "S-sorry..."
"Don't apologize," I said automatically. "You're not the one who invited yourself into a stranger's house during a downpour."
The puppet puffed up. "Excuse you. I negotiated this arrangement."
I looked at Yoshino. "Was it the puppet's idea?"
Yoshino shook her head quickly, then nodded, then froze like she realized neither answer was safe.
The puppet cleared its throat loudly. "We have a system."
"A system," I repeated, amused. "That sounds official."
"It is." The puppet leaned closer, smug. "Now. Before we go any further—names."
I tilted my head. "Names."
The puppet jabbed its tiny paw toward Yoshino. "This is Yoshino."
Yoshino startled, cheeks coloring. She murmured, "Y-Yes..."
Then the puppet pointed at itself with absolute confidence. "And I am Yoshinon."
I paused for a beat, then nodded like this was the most normal introduction I'd ever heard. "Yoshino and Yoshinon."
Yoshinon puffed up, pleased. "That's right."
"Okay," I said nodding "I'm Shidou."
"We know idiot, you told us." The puppet said huffing
"Oh... Right."
Yoshino took the hood off her head, and her blue hair clung to her cheeks in wet strands. She looked smaller without the rabbit ears, like someone had taken off her armor.
She stared at the floor and whispered, "Thank you... for... letting us—"
Yoshinon cut her off immediately. "He's not doing charity. He's clearly lonely."
I blinked. "I'm sorry?"
Yoshinon gestured around the quiet house like it was presenting evidence in court. "No one's here. No noise. No smell of dinner. Suspicious...."
I sighed theatrically. "I'm not lonely. I'm just... temporarily without witnesses."
Yoshino's lips twitched. It was barely there, but it was something.
Yoshinon noticed too. It leaned toward her like it had won. "See? He makes jokes. That's what safe humans do."
I raised an eyebrow. "Are you an expert on safe humans?"
"I'm an expert on threat assessment."
"I believe you," I said, dead serious. "Your credentials are overwhelming."
Yoshinon huffed. "Don't be sarcastic."
I grinned wider. "Sorry can't help it"
I took my jacket off and hung it near the doorway. Water dripped onto the tile in steady ticks. My uniform shirt underneath clung uncomfortably to my back, and my socks were basically sponges.
Yoshino glanced at my feet, then quickly looked away like she'd been caught staring.
Yoshinon did not look away. "You really came out dressed like that on purpose?"
I shrugged. "Sometimes you wake up and decide the universe doesn't deserve your best."
Yoshinon stared at me like I offended it personally. "Your universe is gross."
"Thank you," I said. "It's a lifestyle."
Yoshino clutched her towel tighter. "A-Are you... cold?"
The question was small and careful, like she wasn't sure she was allowed to ask.
I blinked, then my grin softened slightly. "A little."
Yoshino looked like she wanted to say something else, but Yoshinon nudged her hand.
"We'll be fine," Yoshinon declared. "We're used to worse."
I didn't ask what that meant. Not yet.
Instead, I lifted the ruined paper bag and looked inside.
The hot dog had given up on being a hot dog. The bun was collapsing in on itself like wet cardboard.
I stared at it for a long second, then sighed.
Yoshinon watched. "Is that... your food?"
"It was supposed to be," I said. "But it has achieved a new form."
Yoshino tilted her head. "A new... form?"
"A tragedy," I clarified.
Yoshino's eyes widened in alarm like she thought she'd done something wrong.
I waved it off. "Not your fault. The rain is the villain here."
Yoshinon leaned forward, suspicious again. "So what now?"
I crumpled the bag gently and tossed it in the trash. "Now I order food."
Both Yoshino and Yoshinon froze.
"You can do that?" Yoshino asked, awe creeping into her voice.
I paused, then realized how insane that question sounded... and how sad it was that it didn't sound insane to her.
"Yeah," I said lightly, keeping the tone from turning heavy. "You can summon food with a rectangle."
Yoshinon's stitched mouth tilted. "A rectangle."
"A phone," I said. "But 'rectangle' makes it sound more simple."
Yoshino stared like I'd just told her I could bend reality.
Yoshinon recovered first, of course. "You're saying you can bring food here without leaving."
"Correct."
Yoshinon looked at Yoshino, then back at me. "Prove it."
I saluted lazily. "As you wish, tiny prosecutor."
Yoshino's lips twitched again. This time it lasted a fraction longer.
I grabbed my phone off the counter and started scrolling. "Okay. Options. Pizza. Burgers. Ramen. Fried chicken. Something that claims to be healthy but is lying."
Yoshino's eyes widened more with each word. Yoshinon stared too, but with a skeptical squint like it was trying to detect deception.
"P... pizza?" Yoshino whispered, like it was a mythical beast.
"It's like..." I tried to explain in a way that wouldn't sound condescending. "Bread... with toppings."
Yoshino looked overwhelmed already.
Yoshinon leaned toward her. "It's good. We've seen it before."
Yoshino turned her head slightly. "W-We have?"
Yoshinon hesitated—just a beat—then recovered. "Yeah of course...."
I didn't miss that hesitation. I also didn't comment on it.
I held the phone out a little so they could see the pictures. "Pick one."
Yoshino stared like she couldn't decide whether she was allowed to want something.
Yoshinon jabbed its paw at the screen with authority. "That one."
"Pepperoni," I read.
Yoshino made a tiny sound. "Is it... spicy?"
"Not really," I said. "It's just... salty kinda."
Yoshino nodded slowly, as if committing the concept to memory.
"Pepperoni it is," I said, and placed the order.
Yoshinon watched my thumb like it expected the phone to explode.
When the confirmation popped up, Yoshino leaned in. "It's... coming?"
"Yep," I said. "Now we wait."
Yoshino looked around, still clutching her towel, and seemed to realize she didn't know what to do with her body now that the immediate danger—rain, street, unknown human—had shifted into... being inside a house.
I scratched my cheek. "Do you want to sit?"
Yoshino flinched like she'd been given a test.
Yoshinon answered for her, but softer than before. "She can sit. We're just... not used to being told it's okay."
I felt something tighten behind my ribs, but I kept my grin on.
"Living room's this way," I said, and walked ahead slowly, giving them space to follow.
They did, cautiously.
The living room lights were off, so the room was lit by grey daylight filtering through the windows. Everything looked... normal. A couch. A low table. A shelf with random stuff. A couple of plush toys Kotori insisted on keeping around because she was a menace with a cute streak.
Yoshino stopped at the edge of the room like it was sacred ground.
Yoshinon leaned toward her.
Yoshino took a small step. Then another.
Finally she perched on the couch like she wasn't sure the furniture wouldn't betray her.
I sat in the armchair across from her and tried not to look like I was interviewing her.
Yoshinon, on Yoshino's hand, stared at me like it was definitely interviewing me.
"So," I said casually, "what do you two do when you're not... enjoying downpours?"
Yoshino shrank a little.
Yoshinon spoke up. "We mind our business."
"That sounds boring," I said.
"It's safe," Yoshinon countered.
I nodded. "Fair."
Yoshino looked at her own hands, fingers twisting the towel. "I... like... games."
Yoshinon perked up. "She does. She's good."
I blinked. "Games like... video games?"
Yoshino shook her head quickly. "N-No... puzzles... and... letters... and..."
Her voice trailed off like she was afraid she'd said too much.
I leaned forward slightly. "Puzzles, huh?"
Yoshinon watched me like a hawk.
I held up both hands. "I'm not judging. That's actually... kind of perfect."
Yoshino blinked. "Perfect...?"
I stood and walked to the shelf, scanning until I found what I was looking for: a small stack of puzzle books Kotori had bought as a joke and then abandoned when she realized they required patience.
I flipped one open. "Word puzzles... Junior jumble. Stuff like that."
Yoshino's eyes widened like I'd produced treasure.
Yoshinon's tone shifted into open approval. "Oh. He's competent."
I deadpanned. "It hurts when you praise me."
Yoshinon sniffed. "Don't get used to it."
I set the book on the table and slid a pencil toward Yoshino.
Yoshino stared at the pencil like it might bite her.
Yoshinon nudged her hand again. "Go on."
Yoshino slowly reached out and took it with both hands like it was fragile.
I watched her shoulders relax—just a fraction—when she realized the pencil was normal.
To kill the awkwardness, I pointed at the plush bear on the couch—one of Kotori's ridiculous ones. "You can hold that if you want."
Yoshino's eyes flicked to it.
Yoshinon leaned forward. "Bribery bear."
"It's not bribery," I said. "It's... comfort."
Yoshinon's voice went sharp with teasing. "Big bro behavior."
I froze for a beat, then coughed. "Ugh...stop calling me that."
Yoshinon's stitched mouth curled. "Why? It fits."
"I'm not—" I started, then stopped because arguing with a rabbit puppet was a new low even for me. "Whatever."
Yoshino hesitated, then reached for the bear. She hugged it instantly, like her body had been waiting for permission.
Yoshinon made a satisfied sound. "See? Good choice."
I leaned back in my chair. "Okay. Rules of the game. We solve together. No cheating."
Yoshinon snapped its head toward me. "No cheating?"
I smirked. "Yeah. No using puppet lawyer intimidation to force answers."
Yoshinon scoffed. "I'll have you know I'm ethical."
"Sure."
Yoshino looked up, timid. "I... I might be slow..."
"Then we'll be slow," I said easily. "No one's timing us."
Her eyes softened, just a little.
For the next few minutes, the house filled with small, normal sounds: pencil scratching paper, Yoshinon making dramatic commentary, Yoshino making tiny thoughtful noises when she tried to rearrange letters.
"Those letters don't go there," Yoshinon scolded.
Yoshino pouted. It was the smallest pout, but it existed.
I couldn't help the grin.
Yoshinon whipped around. "Don't laugh at her."
"I'm laughing because she's cute," I said before my brain caught up.
Yoshino froze.
Yoshinon froze.
I immediately regretted existing.
I scratched my cheek and looked away. "I mean— in a... normal way. Like...a... ehrm..."
Yoshinon stared at me like it was deciding whether to convict me.
Then it huffed. "Watch your mouth."
"Yes, your honor."
Yoshino's shoulders eased again, and she looked back down at the puzzle with a tiny, embarrassed hum.
The doorbell rang about twenty minutes later.
Yoshino jolted so hard the pencil almost snapped.
Yoshinon snapped into full guard mode. "What was that."
"It's the pizza," I said, standing. "Remember?Rectangle magic."
Yoshino looked like she didn't believe me but wanted to.
I walked to the door and opened it, paid quickly, and took the boxes inside.
When I set them on the table, Yoshino stared like she was witnessing a ritual.
Yoshinon leaned toward her. "Smells good, right?"
Yoshino nodded, almost reverent.
I opened the box. Steam rose. Cheese stretched.
Yoshino made a small sound that was halfway between awe and hunger.
Yoshinon puffed up like it had arranged this. "See? He's useful."
I slid a plate toward Yoshino. "Eat."
She hesitated, then took a slice with both hands and bit carefully.
Her eyes widened.
Yoshinon watched her face like it was waiting for confirmation, then nodded like a proud parent.
I ate too, mostly because my stomach was reminding me that I was still a human being with requirements. The pizza tasted like salt and warmth and simple, uncomplicated life—things I didn't get enough of.
For a little while, it was... quiet in a good way.
Yoshino ate slowly, like she was afraid the food would disappear if she moved too fast. Yoshinon kept up a steady stream of commentary, teasing Yoshino when she got sauce on her lip, teasing me when I used too many napkins, teasing the concept of pizza itself as "too greasy to be trusted."
I didn't mind.
I kept my grin mostly, letting it do the work of making the room feel safe without me having to say too much.
When the pizza was mostly gone, Yoshino looked visibly calmer. Not fearless. Not relaxed. But less like she was a cornered animal.
I slid the puzzle book back toward her. "Wanna play again?"
Yoshino nodded.
Yoshinon sighed dramatically. "Fine. But if you pick an easy one, I'm judging you."
I pointed at the page. "You say that like you haven't been judging me since the rain."
Yoshinon didn't deny it.
We went back to the pencil-and-paper quiet. Yoshino leaned closer to the table now. The bear was tucked under her arm. Every so often she'd glance up at me, then down again quickly like she was checking whether I was still real.
I tried not to make a big deal out of it.
The front door unlocked.
All three of us froze.
My grin didn't move, but something inside me tightened anyway.
The door opened.
Kotori walked in first, voice mid-sentence, talking like she'd been in the middle of explaining something to someone behind her.
Then Tohka stepped in after her, cheerful and curious, looking around like she owned the place.
They both stopped the second they saw the living room.
Kotori's red eyes snapped to me. Then to Yoshino.
Her expression went blank in that way that meant her brain was working fast.
Tohka's eyes widened. "Shidou?"
Yoshino made a tiny choking sound.
Yoshinon's head whipped toward the doorway so fast it looked like it might tear off.
Kotori's gaze sharpened—focused on Yoshino in a way that had nothing to do with casual surprise.
Tohka, meanwhile, looked genuinely confused. Her brows furrowing "Shidou... Who is that?"
Kotori didn't say anything right away.
Yoshino's breathing sped up. Her whole body tightened. She shrank back into the couch, clutching the bear like it was the only thing keeping her anchored.
Yoshinon's voice went quiet—still sharp, but lower. "Yoshino."
Yoshino's eyes darted between Kotori and Tohka and me like she was trapped in a spotlight.
My grin was still there, but now it was strained at the edges.
I set the pencil down slowly. "Hey," I said, keeping my voice light. "It's okay. They're—"
Kotori took one step forward.
Yoshino flinched hard, like that single step was a gunshot.
Kotori stopped instantly, reading it. Her eyes flicked to me—silent question: What did you do? Then back to Yoshino—silent shock. Then She relaxed her posture thankfully seemingly trying to calm her as well.
Tohka stepped forward too, more casually—because she didn't know. She just saw a small scared girl in my house.
"Are you a friend of Shidou's?" Tohka asked, curious, with a hint of suspicion mixed in.
That was the last push.
Yoshino's fear spiked so suddenly it felt like the room pressure changed.
"No—" Yoshino whispered, voice breaking. "I— I'm—"
She couldn't finish.
The air around her shimmered.
My stomach dropped.
"Wait," I said quickly, standing, hands out in the universal don't panic gesture. "Yoshino, hey—look at me. You're safe. Nobody's going to hurt you."
Yoshinon snapped at Kotori and Tohka at the same time. "Don't move!"
Tohka blinked, offended. "What?"
Kotori's face was still stunned—controlled, but stunned. She knew. She absolutely knew.
Yoshino shook her head wildly, tears threatening, the bear held so tight I thought it might pop.
I stepped closer, carefully trying to salvage the situation. "You're okay. You're—"
Yoshino squeezed her eyes shut.
The shimmer became light.
And then—like mist caught by wind—she dispersed.
One second she was there on the couch, small and shaking, and the next she was gone, leaving only a faint sparkle in the air that vanished before I could blink.
The bear fell onto the cushion with a soft plop.
Silence swallowed the room.
My hand hung in the air where she'd been.
I lowered it slowly.
Damn it....
Tohka stared at the empty couch. "What..?"
Kotori stared too, her expression unreadable in the way that meant she was already calculating consequences.
"Commander I will use the kitchen -" Reine Walks in and blinks seeing us all in a tense stare off.
Jeez....
I looked between the three of them—my grin finally fading into something smaller.
"...Yeah," I said, voice flat with disbelief. "So..."
Nobody spoke.
The rain tapped the windows like it was waiting for the next thing to break.