The rain had started just as the final bell rang — steady and cold, filling the sky with grey clouds. By the time Rafe stepped out the front doors of Westgrove High, most kids had already scattered or ducked under their backpacks to hide from the rain.

Eli stood just outside the exit, alone, his hood pulled up though it didn't help much. His sketchbook was clutched tight under his arm, already dotted with droplets, the edges of the pages starting to curl. His sleeves getting damp. He hadn't expected the rain. He hadn't expected... any of this, really.

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, pretending like he wasn't stuck, like he hadn't just realized his mom wasn't coming — again. The ache in his stomach was dull by now. Familiar. He told himself it didn't matter.

He hadn't brought his umbrella again. He just had to wait until the rain stopped.

The sky was gray and low, the kind of color that pressed on your chest. Around him, students scattered. A group of jocks laughed loudly behind him. A teacher gave him a glance and kept walking.

He tried convincing himself he didn't mind. That he liked the rain.

But nothing could make him like the rain.

And then... footsteps.

Slower than the rest. Quieter.

Eli stiffened.

His heartbeat picked up. Too fast. Loud in his ears.

"Sketchbooks don't do great in the rain, you know," a voice said. Smooth. Low.

Eli tensed.

He looked up, just slightly — enough to see him.

Rafe.

The new kid. The one who skipped the first two days and still managed to get called to the principal's office before lunch on the third. Eli had overheard the rumors. He'd heard about the fire alarm. How Rafe apparently set it off and walked away like he didn't care. People said he'd been in fights at his old school. That he got expelled because of it.

He didn't knew if the rumours were true or not. But here he was standing next to Eli. Speaking to him.

Eli flinched like he'd been burned.

He looked down again. "....What are you doing?" Eli asked, voice barely audible. He hated how shaky it sounded.

Rafe shifted, tilting the umbrella slightly toward Eli without answering right away.

"You'll ruin your sketchbook."

"I don't care."

But he did. His fingers curled tighter around it, hiding the paper he wrapped around it to protect it from rain but it clearly wasn't working.

Rafe didn't leave.

There was a long, quiet pause. Eli's heartbeat was in his throat. He could feel himself flushing — his ears burning, his hands tightening around the book. He wasn't used to people noticing him. Not like this. Not gently.

"You don't have to," he said quickly.

"I know." Rafe shrugged, like it didn't matter.

He didn't look angry. He didn't look like a guy who lit fires or started fights. But Eli's brain was already spiraling.

"You don't even know me," Eli whispered.

Rafe didn't move. "I saw you earlier. In the hallway."

Eli's breath caught. The memory flickered — the spilled papers, the bruises, the laughter behind him like a slap.

"I'm fine," Eli said quickly. Too quickly. His voice cracked.

Rafe didn't push. Just stood a little closer, enough that the umbrella angled more over Eli now. Rain slid down Rafe's jacket, soaking into his jeans, but he didn't seem to care.

You're getting wet," Eli muttered, trying to change the subject.

"It's just water."

Eli hesitated, fingers still trembling where they gripped the sketchbook. His legs wanted to run. But his heart... it stilled, just slightly.

Because Rafe hadn't laughed. He hadn't pushed. He hadn't walked away either.

"I'm walking this way," Rafe said gently. "You wanna come?"

The anxiety flared again — hot, defensive. But something else curled underneath it.

Curiosity.

Loneliness.

Maybe... hope.

"...Okay," Eli whispered.

They started walking, their shoes splashing in puddles. They walked side by side down the rain-slick sidewalk, Rafe angling the umbrella to shield him more than himself. Neither spoke for a while.Eli kept his arms close to his body, his sketchbook shielded like it was the only valuable thing he owned.

He didn't know what to say. He was painfully aware of how quiet he was. Of how Rafe kept glancing sideways, like he wanted to ask something but wasn't sure if he should.

But he didn't ask. And somehow, that made Eli trust him more.

When they reached the nail salon. Rafe stopped.

"This is me," Rafe said, jerking his head toward the building above the nail salon.

Eli nodded. He didn't know what he was supposed to do now.

Then Rafe held the umbrella out to him.

"Take it."

Eli blinked. "No, I... you'll get soaked."

Rafe grinned a little, tired around the edges. "Already past saving. Just take it."

Eli's throat tightened. His fingers hovered near the handle, hesitant.

"...Why?"

Maybe I just know what it's like to walk through the rain alone— Rafe wanted to say but he didn't. He was quiet for a moment. Then he just shrugged

Eli shifted anxiously when he didn't get a reply. He swallowed. Hard.

He reached out — slow, cautious — and took the umbrella from Rafe's hand like it might disappear.

"Thank you," he whispered, the words sticking in his throat.

Rafe nodded once. "See you around, Parker."

Eli turned. He didn't make it far before glancing back.

Rafe was still on the stoop, watching him go, hands in his pocket, rain soaking his hair, eyes unreadable.

Eli walked home with the umbrella tilted awkwardly over his head, heart pounding like thunder, not sure why that moment mattered so much.

But somehow... it did.

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