It was one of those mornings where the sky wore a dull gray coat and the clouds hung low, whispering secrets to the earth.
Izumi Ichikawa stood by his window, brushing his teeth while staring at the heavy clouds. Raindrops began to fall, gently at first, then steadily, drumming against the glass.
He didn't mind rainy days. In fact, he kind of liked them.
People didn't try to talk to you much when you were walking with an umbrella and your headphones in. The world got quieter, more distant. It was like slipping into a safe little pocket between droplets.
But today was different.
He found himself wondering if Ayato liked the rain.
He hadn't seen her text or message him last night, which wasn't unusual—they didn't talk much outside of school—but he had gotten used to seeing her each morning now. In the library. At lunch. After school.
It had become a rhythm.
And now he felt it, that small anxiety curling in his stomach, like a page left unturned in his favorite manga.
Would she be there today?
Would this cloudy morning feel lonelier than usual?
He packed his umbrella and left the house with that question still unanswered.
---
By the time Izumi arrived at school, most students were dashing toward the entrance to avoid getting wet. His black umbrella moved calmly through the chaos, footsteps echoing softly in the puddled courtyard.
He made his way to the library before class started.
It was empty.
The familiar scent of old paper filled the room, but Ayato wasn't there.
He took his usual seat near the window, tapping his fingers lightly on the table.
Outside, the rain traced trails down the glass like tears.
He waited five minutes.
Ten.
No Ayato.
His chest tightened slightly—not panic, not disappointment exactly, but something close. Like that quiet fear when a character doesn't show up in the next panel.
Then—
The door creaked open.
He looked up quickly.
But it wasn't her.
Just a younger student returning a book, barely glancing his way.
He turned his eyes back to the rain.
Maybe she's late.
Or maybe she wasn't coming.
He opened his manga, but the words swam on the page. The characters laughed and argued, but none of it reached him.
He shut it quietly.
And for the first time in days, the library felt cold again.
---
Ayato Yamada was absent.
That was the announcement made just after homeroom.
Izumi heard it, but it didn't quite register until lunch break.
"She's not here today either," he murmured, standing in front of her empty seat.
He hadn't realized how much she had become a part of his day. Her sudden absence left a subtle emptiness in the routine—like a missing brushstroke in a watercolor painting.
He walked to the library anyway. It felt wrong not to.
But he didn't stay long.
---
After school, Izumi walked home slowly.
The rain hadn't stopped. His umbrella shielded him from the worst of it, but the gray sky soaked into his thoughts.
He didn't want to admit it, but he missed her.
Missed the way she smiled.
Missed the strange things she said out of nowhere.
Missed how she made the silence feel warm instead of cold.
Was she sick?
Was something wrong?
He hesitated at the corner where they had parted ways yesterday. The spot where she had said, "Just… let me stay by your side."
He stared down the street she always walked.
For a moment, he considered walking it.
Just once.
Just in case.
But then he stopped himself.
Don't be weird, Izumi.
He sighed and turned back toward home.
But somewhere deep inside, he whispered a quiet hope:
Please be okay, Ayato.
The following morning greeted Izumi with the same grey skies and slow, rhythmic drizzle. The streets glistened with the remnants of yesterday's rain, and water pooled near the school gates, reflecting the overcast sky like a cloudy mirror.
Izumi hadn't slept well. Thoughts of Ayato's sudden absence hovered in his mind all night. He told himself not to worry—that maybe she had just caught a cold—but deep down, a quiet unease had crept into him.
As he walked into the classroom, he couldn't help but glance toward her seat.
Empty.
Again.
He turned his head away quickly, pretending he hadn't looked, but he knew that feeling wouldn't go away today either.
"Yo, Ichikawa," said a familiar voice.
It was Shun, one of the few classmates who occasionally acknowledged him. He wasn't exactly a friend, more like a classmate who didn't mind Izumi's silence.
"You okay, man? You look like someone spoiled the ending of your favorite anime."
Izumi blinked. "Huh? Oh… I'm fine."
Shun grinned and shrugged. "If you say so. Heard Yamada's out again. Too bad, huh? She always brought weird energy to class."
Weird energy.
That phrase lingered with Izumi longer than it should have. It was true. Ayato's energy was strange. Like an unpredictable breeze that sometimes swept away the silence he hid behind. And now that breeze had stopped blowing.
It was too quiet.
Too normal.
---
After class, Izumi headed toward the school gates slower than usual, his umbrella resting against his shoulder. The streets were still wet, though the rain had thinned to a mist. He hadn't planned on stopping anywhere, but his feet led him to the small bookstore near the station.
The bell above the door chimed as he entered. The place smelled of paper and dust—his kind of place.
He browsed without really looking, his fingers drifting over colorful spines. The new volume of Space Wizards Academy had just come out, and normally he would've been thrilled, but today his heart wasn't in it.
He bought it anyway.
As he exited the shop, umbrella open once more, he paused by the vending machines.
Something caught his eye.
A girl.
Standing just a few feet away.
White hair.
Green eyes.
Ayato.
She was wearing a thick jacket over her school uniform, her hands wrapped around a can of hot cocoa. She hadn't noticed him yet—her gaze lost in the misty street.
Izumi's heart kicked into gear. For a moment, he didn't know what to do.
Call out?
Wave?
Step back and pretend he didn't see her?
Before he could decide, she turned. Their eyes met.
And she smiled.
"Izumi-kun," she said softly. "You found me."
He blinked. "I… didn't know you were here."
She tilted her head. "But you came anyway."
"I didn't come looking for you. I was just… buying manga."
Ayato giggled, her cheeks flushed. "Still honest as ever."
He stepped closer. "You weren't at school."
"I know. I was… just tired. Needed a day or two."
Izumi frowned. "Are you okay?"
There was a pause.
Then Ayato looked away. "Sometimes, the rain makes my chest feel heavy. Like I can't breathe unless I listen to it for a while."
That was such an Ayato thing to say.
"I was worried," he muttered before he could stop himself.
She blinked.
Izumi looked down. "I mean, I thought you might be sick or something."
A small silence followed, filled only by the whisper of the rain.
Ayato took a step forward and held out her cocoa can.
"Wanna share?" she asked.
He stared at it, then slowly took it from her hand, feeling the warmth of the metal, maybe even the leftover warmth of her fingers.
"Thanks," he said.
"You're welcome," she replied, smiling as if nothing had ever been wrong.
They stood like that, side by side, under the same umbrella, sharing a can of cocoa in the rainy dusk.
No words were needed for a while.
Because sometimes, the quiet between them said more than anything else.
The rain had stopped.
They hadn't even noticed when it did—too lost in the moment, in the quiet warmth of the shared cocoa and each other's presence. The clouds began to shift, letting hints of pale golden light fall through the breaks in the sky, painting the pavement in dull amber.
Izumi looked at Ayato, noticing the way the softened light played in her white hair, turning the strands into silk. Her green eyes, usually sparkling with mischief, held something gentler now—something closer to vulnerability.
"I'm sorry," she said suddenly, voice low. "For vanishing."
Izumi glanced down at the now-empty can in his hand. "…You don't have to apologize."
"I do. I made you worry. And I don't want to be the kind of person who disappears without a word. Especially not to you."
There was something heavy in her tone. Izumi could hear it. He didn't know what to say to that—not yet.
She turned away slightly, staring at the glistening street.
"I moved schools a lot when I was younger," she murmured. "People never stayed. Friends, classmates… even teachers. So I got used to being alone. Then I got tired of it. And I thought… maybe if I acted bright and cheerful, people would stay longer."
He watched her, surprised. Ayato, who danced through the halls like a whirlwind of color and energy… saying this?
"But that's not always how it works," she continued. "Some people only like the brightness. They don't want to see the rain underneath it."
Izumi stepped beside her, standing close enough that their shoulders nearly touched.
"I don't mind the rain," he said.
She looked up at him, startled.
"I mean… if you're feeling like this," he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck, "I don't think it's bad to be quiet. Or to want time alone. I… kinda understand it."
Ayato's lips parted in surprise. Then curved upward.
"That's why I like talking to you, Izumi-kun."
His breath caught.
"I can just be me. No filters, no performance. Just… Ayato."
Izumi's heart was beating too loud. Too fast. But he forced himself to speak.
"You don't have to try so hard around me. I like you the way you are. Whether you're being loud… or silent."
She stared at him, green eyes wide.
He stared back, instantly regretting saying "I like you" without thinking it through.
"W-Wait, not like that," he said quickly, waving his hands. "I meant like as a person. A classmate. A—"
"I know what you meant," she said with a soft smile, though her cheeks were clearly flushed.
They began walking slowly, the sound of wet shoes on pavement blending with the last whispers of rain dripping from rooftops.
"Izumi-kun?" she asked as they neared the intersection.
"Hmm?"
"If I had told you I was feeling down… would you have come looking for me?"
He stopped walking.
Then answered honestly.
"Yes."
Her smile grew wider.
"Then next time I disappear, I'll make sure you know where to find me."
"Let's not make that a habit."
She giggled. "No promises."
They paused at the crossing, the signal light blinking red.
"Hey, Izumi-kun?" she asked again, voice quieter now.
"…Yeah?"
"Will you walk home with me again tomorrow?"
He turned to her, surprised.
Ayato wasn't looking at him. Just at the wet road ahead, lips curved in that same, gentle smile.
He felt the corners of his own lips lift.
"Yeah. I will."
The light turned green.
They stepped forward, side by side, as the sky began to clear at last.
The first drop of sunshine fell on them like a promise.