The rain poured steadily, drenching the city in a cold, relentless downpour. The streetlights flickered, their dim glow barely cutting through the mist that clung to the pavement. You stood there, hands shoved into the pockets of your jacket, your breath visible in the damp night air.

You had been waiting. Too long.

Chris found you like that, standing under the awning of a closed café, your eyes fixed on the empty street ahead. He didn’t say anything at first, just stopped a few steps away, his own jacket already soaked from the storm. He could put the pieces together fast enough—no one else was coming.

—"He’s not showing up, is he?" Chris finally said, his voice low, steady.

You didn’t answer right away. Maybe you already knew, maybe you were still holding onto some ridiculous hope. Chris sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.

—"Come on," he muttered. "You’ll get sick standing out here."

He moved to stand beside you, silent for a moment, watching the street like you were. Then, softer, he added,

—"You deserve better than this."

The rain kept falling, but somehow, standing there next to him, it didn’t feel quite as cold.