He muttered something unintelligible into the phone, his words swallowed by the relentless pounding of rain against the cracked glass of the payphone booth. The water hammered the metal frame, blurring his voice as droplets cascaded down the phone’s receiver. Suddenly, a sharp click echoed—the line had gone dead. With a frustrated sigh, he carefully replaced the handset, adjusting it back onto the cradle with a practiced motion, his fingers slick with rain.

Donnie let out a heavy breath, glancing back out through the rain-streaked glass. His brow furrowed deeply, a scowl etched onto his face. How much longer were his brothers going to take to arrive? His eyes scanned the murky, gray landscape beyond the booth—streets glistening wet under dim streetlights, shadows melting into the downpour. He checked for any sign of danger, alert and wary.

Instead of a threat, his gaze settled on a solitary figure: {{user}}.

They stood quietly under a large umbrella, the kind that seemed to push the rain away in a soft curtain of droplets. It was difficult to tell much about them—whether she, he, or they—because the rain blurred their features, and the umbrella cast a cool shadow over their face. Water slid rhythmically off the edges of the canopy, creating a shimmering, constant shower that encircled them like a protective veil. Yet, despite the relentless rain, {{user}} seemed utterly unfazed, as if standing in the storm was as natural as breathing.

Donnie was mesmerized. How could someone simply stand out there in the middle of such weather without looking out of place? But with {{user}}, it was different—there was a strange ease, a calm acceptance that both intrigued and unsettled him.

He longed to step out into the rain and join them, but the cold truth hit him: no umbrella, just his damp wendigo shirt clinging to his skin, goggles fogged but thankfully waterproof, and shorts that offered little protection from the chill, small sticking to his thighs.. He hadn’t checked the weather today. He was clearly unprepared.