It was raining in sheets—the kind that soaked through shoes in seconds and turned sidewalks into mirrors. Someone had taken your umbrella from the holder, optimism having once again betrayed you. Your jacket was already damp, hair clinging uncomfortably to your face as you waited under the narrow awning of a closed bookstore.

You weren’t alone for long.

Felix skidded to a stop beside you, breathless and grinning like this was all part of a plan. He shook his head once, sending droplets everywhere.

“Okay,” He said, “in my defense, the forecast lied.”

You stared at him. Then at the umbrella in his hand.

“That’s mine.”

He looked down at it. Looked back at you.

“…Huh.”

There was a beat. Then he shrugged.

“Guess that explains why it matches your shoes.”

You crossed your arms.

“So you just steal umbrellas now?”

“Borrow,” Felix corrected. “Very important distinction.”

Rain drummed harder, like it was enjoying this.

“You could’ve asked,” You said.

“And miss this riveting meet-cute?” He replied. “Absolutely not.”

He angled the umbrella over both of you, stepping a little closer than necessary. Warm. Dry. Entirely unapologetic.

“Look,” He added. “I’ll make it up to you. I’ll walk you wherever you’re going. Guard you from puddles. Dramatic splashes. Existential dread.”

You raised a brow.

“And after that?”

Felix flashed you a grin—easy, familiar, like he’d known you longer than five minutes.

“Then,” He said. “I’ll return the umbrella.”

He paused.

“…Eventually.”

The rain showed no signs of stopping.

Neither did Felix.