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The rain fell in a steady curtain over Sobu High, transforming the school grounds into a shimmering mosaic of puddles and reflections. Miwa Aoi stood under the awning of the main building, her fingers clutching her schoolbag, the leather strap damp and slick from the evening's downpour. The air was thick with the scent of wet earth and cherry blossoms, their petals plastered to the pavement like fragile apologies. Her uniform clung to her skin, the cotton heavy and cool, amplifying the shiver that ran through her as she watched the rain blur the world beyond.
She'd stayed late, helping the Service Club sort flyers for their charity booth, a task that had stretched into the evening as Yukino's perfectionism clashed with Hachiman's half-hearted grumbling. Yui had left early, citing a family dinner, leaving Miwa alone with Hachiman and Yukino in the quiet clubroom. The memory of Hachiman's defense on the rooftop still warmed her, a fragile ember against the chill of Yui's confrontation and Yukino's lingering wariness.
But now, as the rain trapped her under the awning, that warmth felt distant, overshadowed by the nervous flutter in her chest.
The door behind her creaked open, and Hachiman stepped out, his umbrella already raised, the black fabric glistening with rain. His jacket was zipped against the cold, his hair slightly damp from an earlier dash through the storm. He glanced at her, his dead-fish eyes narrowing slightly, as if assessing her presence.
"No umbrella?" he said, his tone dry but not unkind, the words cutting through the rain's soft patter.
Miwa's cheeks warmed, and she shook her head, her fingers tightening on her bag. "I… didn't think it'd rain this hard," she said, her voice barely audible over the downpour. "I'll wait it out."
Hachiman snorted, adjusting his umbrella. "You'll be here till midnight. Rain's not letting up." He paused, his gaze flicking to the sky, then back to her. "Come on. I'm not leaving you to drown."
Miwa's heart leapt, a wild rhythm that drowned out her hesitation. "You don't have to—" she started, but he was already stepping closer, holding the umbrella over her, the canopy shielding them both from the rain.
"Don't make it weird," he said, his voice gruff, but there was a flicker of something softer in his eyes—concern, maybe, or obligation. "Let's go."
They walked side by side, the umbrella barely wide enough for two, forcing Miwa to press close to Hachiman. Her shoulder grazed his, the contact fleeting but electric, the warmth of his jacket seeping through her damp blazer. The fabric was rough, slightly worn, and the faint scent of his lavender shampoo mingled with the rain's clean, earthy aroma, wrapping around her like a secret. Her breath hitched, and she focused on the pavement, the puddles reflecting the dim glow of streetlights, to keep her heart from racing out of control.
The rain drummed against the umbrella, a steady rhythm that filled the silence between them. Miwa stole glances at Hachiman, his profile sharp against the evening's gray, his eyes fixed ahead, unreadable. She wanted to say something, to bridge the quiet, but her words felt heavy, tangled in the longing that had grown since the café, since the rooftop, since the note she'd slipped into his locker. Each moment with him was a step closer, a spark that fueled her hope, but also a reminder of the distance he kept, his loyalty to the Service Club a wall she couldn't climb.
"You're quiet," Hachiman said suddenly, his voice low, cutting through the rain's hum. "Usually you've got something to say about my sparkling personality."
Miwa's lips twitched, a nervous smile breaking through. "Just… thinking," she said, her voice soft, almost lost in the storm. "The rain's kind of nice, you know? It makes everything feel… smaller."
Hachiman grunted, his umbrella tilting slightly as he adjusted his grip. "Nice until you're soaked and cursing the weather gods. You're weirdly poetic about it."
Miwa's cheeks warmed, and she dared to look at him, her eyes tracing the faint curve of his lips, the way his hair clung to his forehead, damp and messy. "Maybe I'm just weird," she said, the words bolder than she felt, a quiet challenge to match his bluntness.
He smirked, his eyes flicking to hers, sharp and assessing. "Weird's not the worst thing to be. Beats being boring."
Her heart swelled, his words a small gift, a crack in his armor she wanted to slip through. She shifted closer, her shoulder pressing against his now, the contact deliberate but subtle, the warmth of his body a steady anchor against the rain's chill. Her fingers brushed the edge of the umbrella's handle, cool and slick, and she felt the faint heat of his breath near her ear, a rhythm that matched the storm's pulse. The moment was fragile, intimate, and her longing surged, a tide she could barely contain.
They reached a crosswalk, the rain easing slightly, and paused under a streetlight, its glow casting soft shadows across Hachiman's face. Miwa's heart pounded, the words she'd held back since the café rising to her lips, reckless and raw. I like you. I like the way you see me, the way you don't pretend. I want to be close to you, even if it scares me. The confession was there, burning in her chest, but fear stopped her, Yukino's warning and Yui's confrontation echoing in her mind. Intense. Unsettling. She couldn't risk it, couldn't bear the thought of his rejection, his dead-fish eyes turning cold.
Instead, she swallowed the words, her throat tight, and said, "Thanks… for sharing your umbrella. You didn't have to."
Hachiman shrugged, his gaze fixed on the crosswalk, the light shifting from red to green. "It's just an umbrella. Don't make a big deal out of it."
But it was a big deal, to her at least. The warmth of his shoulder, the faint press of his breath, the way the rain framed them in their own small world—it was everything. She wanted to tell him, to let him know how much these moments meant, but the fear was stronger, a chain around her heart. Her fingers tightened on her bag, the leather creaking softly, grounding her against the urge to spill everything.
The silence stretched, heavy with unspoken words, until Hachiman spoke, his voice casual, oblivious to her turmoil. "Rain's a pain, but it's better than dealing with crowds. You ever notice how people act like getting wet's the end of the world?"
Miwa laughed, the sound shaky but genuine, a release of the tension coiled in her chest. "Yeah. It's just water. They'd survive."
"Tell that to the girls freaking out over their hair," he said, his smirk widening. "You're not like that, though. You just… stand there, like you're daring the rain to do its worst."
Miwa's breath caught, his observation catching her off guard. He'd noticed her, really noticed, and the thought sent a shiver through her, unrelated to the cold. "Maybe I just like the rain," she said, her voice soft, her eyes meeting his. "It feels… honest. Like it doesn't care what anyone thinks."
Hachiman's smirk softened, just a fraction, his eyes holding hers for a moment longer than necessary. "Honest, huh? You're full of surprises, Miwa."
Her heart leapt, his words a spark that warmed her from the inside out. She wanted to hold onto this moment, to freeze it—the rain, the umbrella, the graze of his shoulder, the faint warmth of his breath. But the crosswalk light blinked, and he stepped forward, breaking the spell.
"Come on," he said, his tone back to its usual gruffness. "Let's get you home before you turn into a poetic puddle."
They continued through the rain, the streets of Chiba quiet save for the occasional car splashing through puddles. Miwa stayed close, her shoulder brushing his every few steps, each contact a reminder of the confession she hadn't voiced. Her uniform was damp, the cotton clinging to her arms, but the warmth of Hachiman's presence kept the cold at bay. She memorized the details—the rhythm of his steps, the faint creak of the umbrella, the way his breath misted in the air—storing them for later, when she'd write in her notebook, capturing the moment to keep it alive.
When they reached her apartment building, the rain had slowed to a drizzle, the streetlights casting a soft glow across the wet pavement. Miwa stepped out from under the umbrella, her fingers brushing the handle one last time, the cool plastic a faint echo of their shared warmth. She turned to Hachiman, her heart aching with the words she couldn't say.
"Thanks," she said, her voice steady despite the tremor in her hands. "For… everything."
Hachiman nodded, his eyes unreadable in the dim light. "Don't mention it. Get inside before you catch a cold. I'm not signing up for nurse duty."
Miwa smiled, a small, fragile curve of her lips. "I'll be fine," she said, meaning more than the rain. She lingered a moment, memorizing the way his hair clung to his forehead, the faint curve of his smirk, then turned and climbed the steps, the rain cool against her cheeks.
Inside her apartment, she sank onto her bed, the mattress creaking under her weight, and pulled out her notebook. Her fingers trembled as she wrote, the pen's glide steadying her, the ink's faint scent a quiet comfort. The rain was ours tonight, even if you didn't know it. I almost told you, but I couldn't. Not yet. The words were a confession to herself, a vow to keep chasing the spark, but with restraint, with care.
The rain tapped against her window, a soft lullaby, and Miwa's heart steadied. Hachiman was still a mystery, a wall she couldn't breach, but tonight, under the umbrella, she'd felt closer than ever. It was enough—for now.