The rain starts halfway through your walk home — light at first, then suddenly faster than either of you expected. You duck under a shared umbrella, barely big enough for one. Kuroko holds it tilted slightly toward you, even though his own shoulder is starting to get wet.

You glance over at him. His expression is the same as always — calm, unreadable — but the way he stands close, just enough that your arms brush, says more than his face does.

“I don’t mind getting wet if it means you stay dry.”

It’s so soft you almost miss it over the rain. But you don’t. You never miss his quiet moments — because that’s where all his honesty lives.