Sky's Point of View
Rain looked... off.
And I don't mean in a "forgot his third button today" kind of way. I mean the kind of off that made my chest ache. His jaw was clenched. His tie was perfect—too perfect. His eyes? Stormy. Sharp. Like he was somewhere else. Like he hadn't come back yet.
So I did what any rational person would do.
I burst into his room with a picnic basket, a pink hoodie that said "emotionally constipated and proud," and enough strawberry snacks to trigger a sugar coma.
He looked up from his desk, where he was reading something definitely more complex than my entire GPA. "Sky?"
"You looked stressed," I said, dropping the basket on his desk like it was a bomb full of love. "Also, your aura? Totally tragic. Ten out of ten need of emergency healing vibes."
He blinked. Once. Twice.
"Emergency... healing vibes," he repeated, like it physically hurt him.
I grinned. "Strawberry milk," I said, pulling out two chilled glass bottles like a magician. "And strawberry Pocky. And a strawberry cheesecake. And a strawberry candle because ambience. Also, I brought the sky."
He raised an eyebrow.
I pointed upward. "Roof. Come on. Before your forehead wrinkle gets permanent."
"Sky—"
"No arguments, Your Royal Broodingness. You need serotonin, and I am here to deliver it in pink packaging."
We sat on the roof, the wind tousling my hair into a fluffy disaster and his into literal model behavior. I kicked off my boots and flopped back dramatically. "This is nice," I whispered. "Stars, strawberries, and stone-cold mafia boss vibes."
He froze.
I blinked. "I meant your vibe, not, like, an actual mafia boss. Unless you are, which would be weird. But also kind of hot."
He stared at me.
I shoved Pocky in my mouth.
Silence.
Then, finally—finally—he laughed. Not loud. Not long. But real.
It was the kind of sound I wanted to bottle and wear like perfume.
"You're ridiculous," he said, watching me with a look that melted all my bones into strawberry goo.
"And yet, here you are," I replied softly. "Sitting beside me. Breathing again."
Something flickered in his eyes.
Darkness. Pain. History.
"I don't deserve this," he said, more to the stars than to me.
I leaned my head on his shoulder.
"You don't have to deserve it," I whispered. "You just have to let someone give it to you."
We sat there for a long time, not talking. His hand brushed mine once. Didn't move away.
Maybe he didn't tell me where he went tonight. Maybe he never would.
But for now—right now—I'd be his shelter.
Even if I was just a girl with too many snacks and not enough sense.