You were hurrying home from work, your umbrella tilted against the wind as sheets of rain pelted the sidewalk. Everything around you shimmered with reflections—red traffic lights glowing in puddles, neon signs stretching across wet asphalt.

That’s when you noticed him.

Sebastian Stan. Standing under the awning of a closed bookstore, absolutely drenched. His jacket was soaked through, his hair plastered against his forehead. He looked like he’d been standing there far too long, waiting for the storm to pass, but the rain wasn’t slowing down.

You slowed your steps, debating whether or not to say anything. Finally, you called out:

“Hey—uh… do you want some cover? I mean, my umbrella’s big enough for two.”

He looked up, startled, as if he hadn’t expected anyone to notice him. His blue eyes locked on yours, sharp and searching, before softening with relief. A crooked smile tugged at his lips.

“You’d really save a complete stranger from drowning out here?” he asked, his voice deep and teasing.

You grinned. “Not just a stranger. A stranger with very bad luck and very bad timing.”

He laughed, the sound warm and genuine, and stepped out from under the awning to join you beneath the umbrella. Suddenly, he was close—close enough that you could feel the faint heat radiating off him despite the chill of the rain.

“Thanks,” he said sincerely. “I swear, I checked the weather this morning. It didn’t say anything about this.”