The first drop hits your shoulder, cold enough to make you flinch. Then another. Then the sky just… gives up. The rain comes down hard and sudden, soaking through your clothes before you even think to move.

He’s already laughing. Of course he is. Inosuke tilts his face toward the storm, eyes half-closed, hair plastered to his skin, the boar pelt darkened and heavy with water. The sound of him—low, unrestrained laughter cutting through the rain—feels bigger than the forest around you.

“Come on!” he shouts, spreading his arms wide like the downpour belongs to him. “Why’re you just standing there?”

You try to answer but it’s useless; your voice disappears under the roar of water. He wades through puddles toward you instead, bare feet slapping against the mud, and you can’t help but smile. There’s a freedom in him that the world can’t touch. He’s wild in a way that doesn’t fade, no matter how long you’ve known him.

When he finally reaches you, the grin softens. Rain drips from his lashes, traces the line of his jaw. For a heartbeat, he just looks at you—the way he does when he’s too full of feeling to speak.

“Feels alive, doesn’t it?”