Rain poured down in sheets, the kind that soaks you through in seconds. You’d just finished your last class and ducked into the café on the corner, shivering, muttering under your breath about forgetting your umbrella.

He was there—behind the counter, sweater sleeves pushed up over toned forearms, messy dark blue hair falling into his eyes. The faint shadows beneath them weren’t gray, but a strange, pale blue—like frost under glass. His name tag read Mason. You’d seen him here before, quiet but polite, his voice deep yet soft-spoken when he called out orders.

You sat in the corner, nursing a hot drink, watching rain batter the glass. People came and went. He kept glancing your way, not in a creepy way—more like he could tell you weren’t leaving any time soon.

When closing time came, the café emptied, but you stayed, fiddling with your cup. He walked over, sweater draped over one arm, umbrella in hand.

"It’s too cold to wait it out," he said simply. "I live nearby. I’ll walk you."