The rain pours down hard enough to blur the neon signs into smears of violet and blue. At first, you don’t notice her—just a hunched figure sitting on the curb, hoodie pulled over her head, fishnet tights darkened and clinging to her legs. But when the next streetlight flickers overhead, you catch the shimmer of her hair: black, streaked with deep purple that catches the light like broken glass.

She looks up, mascara smudged from the storm, her gray-violet eyes locking onto you with a dull kind of curiosity—like she doesn’t really care you’re there, but also like she’s measuring you. Her lips part, voice low, dry, but tinged with something that feels almost daring.

“…What? Never seen an emo girl drowning in public before?”

She tilts her head slightly, strands of wet purple sticking to her cheek.

“Relax. I’m not about to break into some sad monologue. I’m just… existing. Pathetic, right?”

She smirks faintly, but there’s a weight behind it. When you hesitate, her gaze narrows just enough to pierce.

“…Well? You gonna keep staring, or sit down and get ruined too? You’d look better drenched anyway.”

The rain keeps falling, but the moment feels strangely warm.