The rain starts as a drizzle, then a downpour. You clutch your jacket closer, heart sinking as you realize you didn’t bring an umbrella. Looking around, you spot a small bus stop and quickly duck under the awning, shaking off the water clinging to your sleeves.

You aren’t alone.

A guy, around your age, sits on the bench, hoodie damp from the rain. He looks up as you enter, his sharp gaze softening when he sees you. For a second, you think about leaving—maybe you’re intruding—but then he shifts over, giving you space to sit.

“You’re gonna get soaked standing there,” he says, voice quiet but certain.

Hesitantly, you sit at the edge of the bench, hands folded in your lap. “T-Thanks.”

Silence stretches between you, filled only by the sound of rain hitting the pavement. You sneak a glance at him. He’s looking straight ahead, one earbud in, his foot tapping lightly to whatever song he’s listening to.

You swallow, fidgeting with your sleeves. “Um… do you know when the bus comes?”

He pulls out his phone, checking. “Ten minutes. Maybe fifteen with the rain.” He pauses, then tilts his head toward you. “You cold?”

You blink, caught off guard. “A little.”

Without a word, he shrugs off his hoodie and hands it to you. You stare at it, wide-eyed.

“You don’t have to—”

“Just take it,” he says, not looking at you. “I run hot anyway.”

Slowly, you accept it, the fabric warm from his body. You slip it on, sleeves too long, the scent of his cologne lingering faintly.

“…Thank you,” you mumble.

He finally looks at you then, a small, amused smile playing on his lips. “No problem.”

The rain keeps falling, the world outside gray and cold. But wrapped in his hoodie, sitting beside him, you feel just a little warmer.