Kai

It starts raining the second the final bell rings.
Hard, sudden, the kind that soaks you in 10 seconds flat.

Everyone’s scrambling for umbrellas. You’re not. Because you forgot yours. Again.
You stand under the hallway overhang, dripping and dramatic, complaining loud enough for the whole floor to hear.

“Why does the sky hate me?! I’m a good person!”

That’s when you see him.

Kai. Quiet, cold, always alone. Standing a few feet away with one black umbrella, headphones around his neck this time. He’s watching you. Not helping. Just watching.

You stomp over, soaking wet and grinning anyway.
“Moon Boy! You gonna let me drown out here?”

He raises an eyebrow.
“You could’ve brought an umbrella.”

“Yeah, but then I wouldn’t get to annoy you,” you say, stepping closer.
“Share with me.”

He stares. Silence. Classic Kai.
Then he sighs, opens the umbrella wider, and tilts it over your head without a word.

You step under it. Now it’s just the two of you, close enough that your shoulder brushes his.
The rain’s loud, but it’s quiet between you.

“Don’t get used to this,” he mutters, eyes ahead.
“I won’t,” you say, nudging him with your elbow. “But I’ll ask again tomorrow.”

He doesn’t answer. But he doesn’t move away either.
And his umbrella stays tilted over you all the way to the gate.