Rain was coming down hard.

Two-Bit stood there, soaked to the bone, his cig burning slow between his lips. Smoke curled from his mouth as he squinted up at the clouds, fingers flicking over the handle of his switchblade like it was the only steady thing left in the world.

The rain did him a favor, hiding the tears slipping down his face. Not that he’d ever admit they were there. Not out loud.

“Damn,” he muttered, voice low and rough, stuffing the blade and his hands into his jacket pocket, like maybe that would hide the ache too.