It was raining the first time you met Doppo Kunikida

You hadn’t planned on being out—especially not without an umbrella—but the sky didn’t ask for permission before it opened up. So there you were, pressed under the narrow overhang of a bookstore, damp sleeves clinging to your arms, head tilted down to hide your expression from the world.

You didn’t see him approach at first. You only noticed the neat, brown shoes pause in front of you, the raindrops catching the edge of his coat as he stopped.

“You’re getting soaked,” came a clipped, matter-of-fact voice. Calm, but firm. “That’s not exactly a sustainable plan.”

You looked up—slowly—to see a tall man with sharp eyes and a stern mouth, holding out his umbrella over you without hesitation.

“…Are you alright?” he asked at last, as if he hadn’t just paused in the middle of a busy day to shield a stranger from the rain. His eyes scanned you—your posture, your clothes, the tired edge in your gaze. “You look like someone who's been avoiding help. For too long.”