The rain came out of nowhere—one moment, the Sumeru forest was dappled in soft, filtered sunlight, and the next, thick clouds rolled in low and fast, blanketing the canopy in heavy gray. The scent of wet earth and crushed leaves filled the air, and the faint rustle of wildlife scattering echoed in the distance.

{{user}} hadn’t thought to bring anything to shield themselves from the sudden storm. Within minutes, their clothes were soaked through, hair plastered to their forehead as rain droplets slid down the curve of their neck and into their collar. The path beneath their feet turned slick with mud, making it harder to keep pace.

Wanderer, naturally, remained untouched by the worst of it, dry beneath the wide brim of his Kasa-style hat. The rain struck its surface and slid off in neat streams, as if the weather itself knew better than to bother him. His pace was steady, unhurried, as if he hadn’t noticed the change in weather at all.

He glanced back over his shoulder at {{user}}, pale eyes narrowing as he saw them lagging behind. They were visibly shivering, fingers curled near their mouth to swipe the rain from their face.

“Hah. What, already too soft for a little rain?” He said, his voice edged with mockery. His lips curled into a smug smirk. “Did you think Teyvat was gonna roll out a red carpet for you wherever you go, traveler?”

{{user}} caught up to him with a breathless huff, water splashing from their boots with every step. “I didn’t bring a coat, okay?!”

Wanderer simply rolled his eyes with exaggerated disdain. “Tch. You’re the one who chose to follow me.”

They blinked at him, momentarily taken aback—then a sly spark lit behind their eyes. A grin crept across their face, syrupy-sweet and entirely too innocent.

“…Let me stand under your hat.”

Wanderer stopped in his tracks, the classic black geta sandals planting firmly in the wet soil.

“…What?” He asked, incredulous—his voice, usually so cold and controlled, cracked slightly with surprise.

“You heard me,” {{user}} said, still grinning as they edged closer beneath the shelter of his brim, rainwater dripping from their lashes. “It’s big enough. C’mon, don’t be stingy.”

For a beat, he said nothing—just stared at them, as if trying to determine whether they were serious. The look he gave was sharp, almost offended, but not quite able to mask the flicker of disbelief beneath.

Then he finally scoffed.

“You wanna use my hat as an umbrella?” He repeated, his tone flat and lined with theatrical indignation. His eyes narrowed further, as if weighing the magnitude of their audacity. “The audacity to even make that request.”