Act I: The First Rain
The rain didn't stop.
It was the third day in a row that grey clouds blanketed the sky, and by now the school hallways had started to smell faintly of wet shoes and damp sweaters. The usual chatter between students was replaced by yawns and grumbles about the gloomy weather.
Yuki sat in the corner of the art room, sketching faint outlines of clouds—thick, shapeless, and heavy—just like the ones outside. Her pencil paused mid-line as thunder rumbled far in the distance, a low, drawn-out growl that crawled under her skin.
She pressed the pencil harder.
It's fine. It's not like that night. It's just a storm.
But her hand shook.
The memory surfaced before she could stop it: flickering lights, the howling wind, the scream of shattering glass, and her mother's hand slipping from hers.
She dropped the pencil.
Her chest tightened.
The walls of the art room began to blur. The air felt too thick, too close. Her ears rang with silence that was anything but quiet.
She stood up, knocking over her chair.
"Yuki?"
It was Mina, but her voice was distant, warped—like it came through water.
"I—I need air," Yuki mumbled, stumbling past the desks.
She didn't care if people stared as she pushed through the doors and down the stairs, out into the open school courtyard where the drizzle had turned into a downpour.
The wind slapped her face, cold and stinging.
She didn't stop.
She kept walking—no, running—until she reached the covered bench behind the gym. Her safe spot. Her hiding spot.
She curled onto the bench, pulling her knees to her chest, hands over her ears.
Don't think. Don't remember. Don't break again.
Another crack of thunder split the sky.
Yuki let out a soft, choked sound—half sob, half gasp.
She didn't notice the footsteps until they stopped right in front of her.
"You're afraid of storms, huh?"
The voice was gentle. Familiar.
She looked up through wet strands of hair and saw Ren, half-soaked again, holding a thermos and a crooked smile.
He crouched down in front of her, not saying anything for a moment. His presence didn't demand anything. It just was.
"I didn't mean to follow you," he said. "Mina told me you ran out. Thought you might be here."
Yuki didn't answer. Her hands were still clamped over her ears. Her whole body trembled.
"Here," he said, unscrewing the thermos. "It's warm tea. Jasmine, I think. Or green. I'm not good at reading labels."
She stared at it, unmoving.
"I'll just leave it here," he said, placing it beside her.
Another thunderclap.
Yuki flinched violently. Her fingers dug into her sleeves.
Ren moved without asking. He sat beside her—close, but not too close. Quietly. Carefully.
"I used to be scared of thunder too," he said.
She blinked.
He was still smiling, but softer now. Not that overly-bright kind. Just… human.
"My brother would sit with me during storms and talk about how thunder was just the clouds shouting at each other," he chuckled. "Like siblings fighting. But it never scared him."
Yuki turned her head slowly, her voice a thin whisper. "What happened to your brother?"
Ren hesitated for the first time. His smile faltered—just briefly.
"He passed away," he said quietly, looking out at the rain. "During a storm. Years ago."
Yuki's breath caught.
Her heart stung—guilt or sympathy, she didn't know.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
"Me too," Ren said, glancing at her. "But you know what helped? Talking. Sitting with someone, even if we didn't say anything. Just knowing I wasn't alone."
He looked up at the sky. "Storms still remind me of that night. But now, they remind me of the good parts too. Of being held. Of safety."
Yuki looked down at her soaked shoes.
"I wasn't held," she said. "I was left."
Ren didn't speak.
The silence stretched between them—but it wasn't uncomfortable.
Finally, Yuki reached for the thermos and took a slow sip.
Warmth spread through her chest.
She exhaled shakily, her shoulders slowly lowering. The storm still raged outside, but inside, she felt… something gentler. A quiet space carved out by a boy who listened, who didn't push, who simply stayed.
Ren turned to her. "Want to stay here until it passes?"
She nodded.
They sat together, side by side on the cold bench, as the thunder roared and the sky wept.