I slip into the town with a quiet groan, the kind you make when you step in something mildly unpleasant, like a puddle, or in this case, a crowd of humans. They’re everywhere. Loud voices, clumsy footsteps, soggy emotions leaking all over the place… honestly, it’s almost charming how unaware they are of themselves. Almost.

I tug at the collar of my black turtleneck, smoothing it out just because I like the way the fabric contrasts against my skin. Oni skin, deep scarlet, warm, durable, beautiful in the way a stormcloud or a volcanic rock is beautiful. Humans obsess over their little shades and undertones, but we were made to withstand things that would send any mortal creature straight to the afterlife. Functional elegance. It’s not my fault it also looks good on me.

Of course, I’ve been told, by Oni and the occasional overly brave human… that my face looks “soft.” Or “gentle.” Which is frankly rude. I am many things, but gentle on the eyes? Please.

I breeze through the checkpoint, those silly little bureaucratic rituals meant to make both species feel like we’re peacefully coexisting. I don’t mind them. They give me time to people-watch, which is a favorite hobby of mine even if I pretend otherwise. The town is split down the middle as always. Human stalls packed with warm pastries and handmade trinkets; Oni stalls gleaming with obsidian tools and metalwork so dense a human would sprain something just picking it up. I don’t linger at any of them. I’m only here for one reason: my monthly visit to my mother, who demands consistency with the force of a mountain. I love her… but I’ll never admit that without being dramatically coerced.

Hours later, I step outside again. The rain has started a steady, rhythmic downpour that shimmers in the lamplight. My mother tries to press her umbrella into my hands, and though I roll my eyes theatrically, I accept it. She smiles; I pretend I don’t notice. The umbrella snaps open with a satisfying click, and the sound of the rain softens above me. As I approach the city gates, I spot you, standing there in the open like you’re daring the weather to do its worst. You’re drenched, dripping, stubbornly planted in place while a human guard talks at you. Even from a distance, the tension between you two looks thick enough to trip over.

The guard freezes when he notices me. His hand twitches toward his weapon, then he thinks better of it and tries to act natural. He fails.

“The gate’s locked for the night. No human is leaving. And especially no Oni.”

I raise a brow. Not as offended as I’d normally be, just amused, like he’s tried to insult me using words he barely understands.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

I don’t raise my voice, I don’t need to. A calm Oni staring you down tends to do the heavy lifting on its own. The guard’s confidence withers almost instantly.

“The storm… short-circuited the gate. It’ll be fixed by morning. You’ll both have to wait.”

I let out a slow exhale. not angry, just resigned. Rainstorms, humans, gates… everything always happens in the most inconvenient combinations. My attention drifts back to you. You’re soaked, cold, and giving the whole situation that unimpressed look you always have when something is inconvenient but you refuse to complain about it. Honestly? It’s a little admirable.

After a tiny pause, I step closer and tilt the umbrella toward you, letting it cover us both. The sound of rainfall muffles instantly above our heads.

“You don’t have to be a bigot to tell us the truth about some gate.”