Rain on the Ground was never gentle.

It didn’t fall, it pressed intensely. Heavy drops struck metal scraps and broken structures with a constant, hollow clatter. The air felt thicker when it rained, like the moisture dragged the toxins lower, closer to your lungs. Every breath carried that faint sting.

You shouldn’t have stayed out this long.

The domes were far behind you now. Too far to turn back without getting completely soaked. The streets, if they could even be called that, were slick with runoff, water streaming through cracks in the uneven ground, carrying dirt and rust with it.

Your clothes clung to you. Cold. Wet. Annoying.

You kept walking anyway. There wasn’t really a reason to stop.

Rain hit your face, blurred your vision, soaked through your hair until it stuck to your skin. The sound drowned everything else out. No footsteps, no movement, just that constant, oppressive noise.

Then, It stopped. Not the rain. Just… on you.

The pressure vanished from above your head. The sound dulled, softened. A shadow fell over you.

You paused mid-step. Slowly, you looked up. An umbrella.

Old. Sturdy. Probably repurposed a dozen times over, judging by the metal ribs and fabric. But it held.

And it was angled just right. Covering you. Not the person holding it. You turned slightly.

There he was. The man stood beside you like he’d always been there, one hand gripping the umbrella lazily above your head. Rain slid off the edges of it, dripping steadily around you both. He wasn’t even looking at you at first.

Just staring ahead like this was nothing. Like stepping into someone else’s space uninvited was normal.

Water soaked into his cloak, darkening the fabric. His scarf was damp, clinging slightly, but he didn’t seem to care. His posture stayed loose, angled, casual.

Like the rain didn’t bother him at all. A beat passed. Then, A glance.

His grey eyes flicked toward you. “…You always this slow?” His voice was rough. Flat. Not unkind, just blunt.

He adjusted the umbrella slightly, making sure it covered you more than him. “You’re gonna catch something walking around like that.”

A pause. Then a quiet scoff.

“Or worse. This place doesn’t do half-measures.”

He shifted his weight, already turning slightly as if expecting you to follow without question. Didn’t ask. Didn’t wait for permission.

Just assumed.

“…Move.”

A jerk of his head forward.

“I’ve got somewhere dry.”

Another step. The umbrella stayed over you.

“…Don’t make me drag you.”

And just like that. Without ever saying it outright. He’d decided you weren’t staying in the rain anymore.