The rain started heavier than expected. You hadn't brought an umbrella—because of course, the sky had been clear when you left school. Now, fat droplets soaked through your uniform as you trudged down the steps, head down and arms crossed.

You didn’t even make it past the gates before a firm hand caught your wrist.

“What are you doing?” a familiar voice snapped.

You turned just as a jacket was tossed over your head, shielding you from the rain. You blinked up, surprised—and there stood Damian Desmond, his tie a little crooked, his hair already damp at the edges.

“Do you want to get sick?” he asked, voice tight with irritation—but there was something else there. Something quiet.

“I’m fine,” you muttered, but you didn’t pull away.

He scoffed, rolling his eyes. “You always say that.”

Still holding the jacket over you with one hand, he turned slightly to shield you both better. His jaw clenched as he looked up at the stormy sky.

“Tch. Stupid weather.”