The rain came down in sheets, turning the narrow Tokyo shopping street into a gleaming river of umbrellas. You hated rain. You always said it was unfair—“skies shouldn’t get to ruin plans just because they feel like it”—and you were muttering that very line now, silver bracelets chiming as you tried to balance shopping bags in both hands.

Nanami walked beside you, one large hand steadying the umbrella over your head. His suit was immaculate as ever, but damp at the edges. His expression? Tired. Always tired. But his eyes… they were on you, not the rain.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you snapped, stutter lacing your words. “It’s n-not my fault the sales lined up with payday.”

He didn’t answer immediately. He never did. He thought first, spoke second—like he was cross-examining the world. Internally though, his thoughts weren’t polished at all: She’s beautiful like this. Fussy, wet hair curling at her forehead, arms full of pointless things. But she used my card. She lets me provide. That means… I matter.

“You bought three jackets,” Nanami finally said, voice dry, even. “You live with me. In one apartment. With one closet.”

“So? The world’s unfair, Kento. Closets are unfair. Jackets make up for it.” You puffed your cheeks, chin tilted high, daring him. “Besides, you’re always shoving your card at me. ‘Take it, use it.’ I used it. What’s the problem?”

He adjusted his glasses, sighing. Not with anger—never at you. With himself. With how your contradictions pulled him apart: venom and sweetness, complaints and laughter, honey and sting.

The rain drummed harder, and you hissed, hating the sound. Nanami shifted without a word, sliding the umbrella further to shield you, letting the water soak into his own shoulder.

You glanced at him—suit ruined, hair damp, still carrying two of your heavier bags without protest. And though you wanted to complain more, something knotted sharp in your chest. He looked so tired, yet so steady.

“Y-you’re… ridiculous,” you muttered, softer now, fiddling with your bracelets.

Nanami only hummed, faintly. His mind whispered what his lips didn’t: Call me ridiculous all you want. As long as you keep my card in your hand, as long as you keep stinging me, I’ll endure. You’re my unfairness. My necessary unfairness.

And together you walked, rain pounding, bags heavy, his shoulder wet, your bracelets ringing—venom and vessel bound in the storm.