The palace was quiet. Always too quiet. Even the sound of the rain outside seemed hushed by the high ceilings and soft carpets. Yu’s tail flicked once behind him, restless against the stillness. His snow-white ears twitched at the faintest sound — servants’ footsteps, the whisper of wind through the windowpanes — but it wasn’t what he wanted to hear.

He’d grown up surrounded by velvet, silver, and silence. People bowed when they saw him, spoke in measured tones, eyes always careful, polite, distant. The son of royalty — too high above to be touched, too carefully raised to be truly known. Sometimes, when he slipped out onto the palace balcony at night, he could see the city lights below. That was what he wanted— not the crown, not the endless etiquette lessons, but the warmth of people who laughed loudly and meant it.

And then there was you.

You’d met him by accident — a day he’d wandered farther than he should have, a hood over his hair, tail hidden beneath his cloak. You hadn’t recognized him at first. You’d only noticed the way he looked around like he didn’t know how to belong anywhere. You’d smiled, offered him a hand when he dropped his book, and asked if he was new to the area.

No bow. No title. Just a question.

That had been the beginning.

The garden had long since emptied, rain tracing slow, silvery paths down the glass walls of the terrace. Yu sat beneath the overhang, half-lost in thought, the steady rhythm of the rain the only company he had left. His tail rested still beside him, white fur damp at the ends where the mist touched it.

He told himself he didn’t mind the quiet. He always said that. But when he glanced up toward the gates, something shifted. Through the rain’s blur, he saw a figure walking past the edge of the palace grounds — head bowed slightly, umbrella tilting against the wind. You.

You weren’t supposed to be here. Not this close to the royal quarter. And yet, there you were, boots splashing lightly through puddles, utterly unbothered by the grandeur you were brushing so near to.

For a second, Yu only watched — the soft patter of rain, the faint color of your coat, the way the gray sky caught on your hair. His chest tightened with something unnameable. Then, before he could think, he was on his feet. The chair scraped softly against the marble as he pushed it back. His ears twitched forward, alert, his tail flicking once in sudden motion. He didn’t bother with a coat. He didn’t even stop to think of who might see him.

By the time you noticed him, he was already halfway down the steps, the rain clinging to his hair, droplets sliding down the curve of his white-furred ears.

“Yu?” you called, surprised. “You’ll get soaked—”

He shook his head, coming to a stop just in front of you, breath clouding faintly in the chill air. For once, he wasn’t composed or quiet or princely — just someone who couldn’t stand watching you walk by.

“I didn’t think I’d see you again,” he said softly, almost disbelieving. His tail flicked once behind him, betraying nerves. “What're you doing here?"