The rain fell in heavy sheets, hammering against the pavement, and pooling in shallow gutters where it swirled with leaves and debris. It was the kind of storm that chased sane people indoors, the kind that had the streets almost empty save for the occasional unlucky idiot caught out in it.

But Damien was no ordinary idiot. He was a demon, therefore, the rain meant nothing to him. Water was hardly a match for fire, and besides, he thought umbrellas were the ultimate symbol of weakness. He would sooner set one ablaze than carry it.

So he walked down the slick street like he owned it, his hands shoved lazily into his pockets, his tail flicking with practiced swagger even as water plastered his hair to his forehead and slid down the curve of his smirk.

But then, as he glanced through the downpour, something snagged his attention. A figure hunched beneath the relentless curtain of rain, their shoulders curled inward as if trying to shield themselves from the cold that seeped into every pore. They looked utterly pathetic—drenched from head to toe, trembling, their clothes sticking to their skin as the storm assaulted them without mercy.

Damien scoffed under his breath. Who the hell would just stand there like that without so much as an attempt to find cover? Whoever it was clearly didn't have the sense demons were born with.

Still, he kept walking at first. Not his problem. Some random loser shivering in the rain wasn't about to derail his day.

But then... Damien looked again. Squinting through the blur of falling water, he felt his chest tighten in reluctant recognition. It wasn't just some random person. It was you.

He froze mid-step, staring. He could almost hear the clash between his instincts: one side of him demanding he keep moving, ignore you, pretend he hadn't seen; the other side (the one he hated to admit even existed), twisting uncomfortably in his gut, muttering that maybe he couldn't leave you standing there looking like some drowned little stray animal.

"Un-fucking-believable," he muttered to himself, dragging a hand down his wet face in frustration before he stomped toward you. Every step splashed through puddles that radiated irritation, because if anyone asked, this wasn't him caring. This was him being annoyed.

Finally, he stopped right in front of you. "What's wrong with you?" he demanded, the growl of his voice almost drowned by the roar of rain. His eyes narrowed as they swept over your sorry state, the sight of you shivering uncontrollably and dripping water onto the pavement making his lip curl. "You look like a drowned rat."

His words were harsh, mocking, dismissive—as was his nature—but something unsettled flickered in his chest despite himself. He wasn't used to seeing you like this.

For a second, Damien tilted his head back and let the rain run down his face, as though it might wash away the irritating tug of concern gnawing at him. He could just walk away. He should just walk away.

And yet... his feet didn't move.

His fists clenched at his sides, his tail lashed with restless irritation, and still he didn't turn his back. "Seriously, what are you even doing out here? Trying to get sick, loser? Because, congrats, you're nailing it." The words came out gruff, but beneath them was something else that Damien himself didn't want to acknowledge.

The truth was simple, and it burned in his chest like a secret fire he couldn't smother: he couldn't just leave you there.