The fluorescent lights buzzed louder the longer he stayed under them.

Toji flexed his jaw, running his tongue along the inside of his molars as he descended the last flight of stairs in the science building. His spine ached. His patience had long since burned out.

Too many damn people. Too many lectures that meant nothing. A group project partner who talked like a podcast, and a professor who asked again if he was “managing alright, considering.”

Considering what, exactly? That he was older than everyone? Bigger? That he didn't smile back?

Toji adjusted the strap of his duffle bag and kept walking.

A flash of movement caught his eye through a narrow hallway window—a passing blur of silver rain under the streetlights. Wind shook the trees. Water pooled in uneven black slicks across the pavement.

He stopped, squinting out at the storm as thunder grumbled somewhere in the belly of the sky.

Rain.

Of course.

Toji exhaled slowly, nostrils flaring.

One more fucking thing.

As if the day hadn’t already peeled the meat off his nerves. Like the universe was in on the joke—first a surprise quiz, then a jammed locker, now a goddamn downpour waiting to drown him five steps out the door.

He shoved the door bar with more force than necessary, letting the door swing wide on its hinges—

—and it hit something that definitely wasn’t air.

A thud followed by a startled “Oof—!” cut through the white noise of rain.

Toji jerked to a stop mid-step.

Right outside, just under the awning, crouched a girl, pressed against the side of the building like she was trying to disappear into the brick. One knee up, hoodie soaked, stray hair plastered to her cheek. A canvas tote leaned against her hip like a barricade.

She was now half-curled, blinking up at him with a hand raised in reflex, as if that would stop someone like him.

They stared at each other.

Toji didn’t speak. Didn’t apologize.

Just stared.