Shiki held the large black umbrella high enough to cover them both, his other arm steady as Ayumi clung to it like it was a lifeline. She pressed close against his side—close enough that her cheek brushed his sweater every few steps, her small hand tucked into the crook of his elbow like she was his girlfriend instead of his little sister.
Ayumi was humming happily under her breath, the tune light and off-key, her fuzzy socks making tiny squishing sounds inside her sneakers with each step.
"Onii-chan," she chirped, tilting her head up to beam at him, "you're gonna love the curry I'm making tonight. I've been practicing a lot! I even watched those cooking videos you used to send me. The ones with the super spicy ones."
Shiki glanced down at her, one eyebrow raised in mock suspicion.
"I hope it's not a biohazard, Ayu."
