i.
One day, he just stands there.
Across the street from the café, without an umbrella, unmoving, in the rain, he stands.
You can't even remember when he left.
ii.
With the next rain, he returns.
Again, he just stands there; still and rigid, drenched to the bone.
His long hair looks heavy, droops into his face; his wet clothes cling to his wiry, tall frame.
You wonder what kind of face he is making.
iii.a
When raindrops start hitting the roof again, sure enough, he is there.
You grab two umbrellas- one old and rusty and still intact- and dash through puddles until you come to stand in front of him.
He looks at you, then, with eyes like storm clouds, owlishly curious and ever so mildly furious, and bites his lip.
"Here," you say, holding the weathered umbrella out to him, baring your teeth in an awkward smile.
His hands wrap around the offered item, perhaps on instinct. He looks at you, doubtfully furrowed brows and tight-pursed lips, and tucks heavy dark hair behind his ear.
"Thank you," he replies, in a voice so small and deep, and proceeds to stand there.
iii.b
By the time the rain has stopped, he is gone.
On a lantern, by the door, hangs your rusty umbrella.
iv.
It gradually grows warmer.
He eventually exchanges his white high-collared jacket for a thin shirt.
It's a vivid, rich purple. Perhaps even blue.
(You wouldn't know the difference.)
It paints his pallid skin even paler, in comparison; almost a translucent white, where heavy purple fades into twig-like arms.
He still doesn't have an umbrella.
v.a
On your way home from school, you get caught in a downpour.
"It's the rainy season, after all!" laughs Ann's voice, tinny, through the speaker.
She isn't wrong.
v.b
When you round the corner, he stands there, drenched already and sorry a sight as ever.
"Hey," you greet him, casual like a friend.
He blinks, stormy skied eyes just a little sadder than last time, and nods curtly in acknowledgement.
"Hello," he replies, and glances up in surprise as the skies stop raining down on him. Instead, your umbrella is extended to shield him as well, water pouring a stream upon the cracked pavement.
"Why are you always out here in the rain?" you ask, viewing the clouds through a screen of transparent vinyl.
When you receive no answer, you look at him, who is, with his eyes towards the heavens, already lost to the world.
vi.
"What's your name?" you try, perhaps in vain, as you come to stand next to him.
He looks down at you and then looks upwards, as if to avoid your gaze altogether; his brow furrows when he realises that your umbrella of choice that day is a solid dark blue.
"Kitagawa," he breathes out, barely louder than the rain, with a grave expression, "Yusuke."
You hum in acknowledgement and wonder- for the first time in your life- if it's appropriate to go ahead and introduce yourself.
"I believe," the boy- Yusuke- goes on, stormy eyes back on you, thin lip curled in slight disdain, "that it is common courtesy to share your own identity, now."
Taken just a bit aback, you stumble over your own name like a fool.
vii.a.
Sometimes, you wonder if he'll disappear after the rainy season.
Maybe he's a spirit, with his pale skin, dark hair and those eyes like cloudy skies on the verge of bursting; it wouldn't be surprising.
Mona mewls, slinking around your legs with the kind of grace that demands attention.
Sojiro throws you a disapproving glance, so you continue drying the dishes.
vii.b.
You stand next to him again, a while later; you chose the vinyl umbrella, this time.
Yusuke seems to appreciate it, tracing a select few raindrops' paths with his ever attentive gaze.
"What do you do?" you ask, running a hand through your hair to release the pent-up humidity. "In life, I mean. Like, school?"
He blinks as though bringing his focus back to reality. "Kousei," he replies. "I attend there on an art scholarship."
"So you're into art?" you press, and pray he doesn't dismiss you.
And for the first time, Yusuke looks at you, and his eyes shine.
viii.
"Why do you always stand out here in the rain?" you wonder aloud, holding out an arm from below you umbrella to feel the light drizzle.
Yusuke mimics your action and stares at his hand as he, flatly, replies, "Stimulation."
You don't ask him to elaborate.
ix.a.
Over the course of a few afternoons, you learn that Yusuke, too, is a second year in high school, that he must be crazy talented at art, that he's an Aquarius, perpetually broke but good at saving money and all that endearing nonsense.
ix.b.
Eventually, though, you ask him to come on in and then fix him a hot cup of coffee.
x.
"How's Rain Boy?" Ann asks from where she is wedged between the booth and Ryuji, slurping on a milkshake.
"Hasn't caught a cold yet," you reply, and you don't even know which one of them kicks you in the shin for that.
xi.
You stare at the little rivulets left in the wake of the raindrops rolling down Yusuke's neck a lot, these days.
xii.
"Perhaps I have been mistaken, all this time," he tells you, soaked sleeve leaving a wet print on the counter.
"How do you mean?"
Yusuke purses his lips, then wets them, and purses them again.
"I was convinced that exposing myself to the ways of how rain could be perceived would, in due time, stimulate even my dulled senses enough to allow me to create something sensible once more," he explains, slim shoulders squared, long spine straight.
"And now?" you urge him on, just a bit curious.
"Now," he begins, and smiles, and wraps his long fingers around his cup, "I shall try a different approach, after all."
xiii.
He doesn't drop by, for a while.
You stock up on snacks for when he returns.
(You and Ryuji make quick work of about half of them in one sitting.)
xiv.
The rain used to help you concentrate.
Now it only reminds you of a deep voice and long bottom lashes.
You wonder when Yusuke will return.
xv.
You ask Hifumi about him, at some point.
It's only after she's completely annihilated you at shogi once again, and it's little more than an afterthought, really.
"Kitagawa?" she repeats, looking a bit surprised, and briefly stops stowing her shogi pieces away. "He's in the art course."
You wonder if that's all there is to Yusuke; you'd hoped another Kousei student might know more, but perhaps there just isn't more to know.
"That aside," Hifumi continues and resumes tidying up after herself, "your plays have improved significantly, lately."
xvi.
Eventually, many rainy afternoons later, Yusuke returns.
He's brought a sketch pad and he orders one cup of the house blend.
"Where were you?" you ask him as you set his coffee down on the counter, right next to a row of neatly sorted pencils.
Yusuke looks at you, borderline appalled, as if wondering how you came to possess the sheer gall to ask. "Occupied," he answers, and that's all you get, that day.
xvii.
"I heard good things about Leblanc," he begins one day, while nursing a cup in his rain-cold hands, and that might be the closest thing to an explanation you've ever gotten out of him.
"Did you?" you ask, pretending not to notice Sojiro's attention shifting away from the TV and towards opinions of his establishment.
Yusuke nods and takes a languid sip. "Word of mouth deems it an insider tip," he replies.
And, vaguely, you recall an old magazine, stuffed away between weathered shelf-boards, praising it all the same. "Do you agree with them?"
He smiles. "It is quite charming."
xviii.
"Will you ever tell me," you begin, fidgeting with the handle of your umbrella, "why you still only drop by on rainy days?"
Yusuke looks unsure of how to answer, so he simply pretends to steady your umbrella.
But when the silence stretches on for too long, and even he realises he can't keep on stalling forever, he flushes. "I was not aware I could."
You're really not at fault for bursting out laughing at that, but with the offended look you receive, you might as well be.
Or maybe it just makes you laugh harder.
xix.a
"You should introduce us sometime!" Ann suggests, and it's bright despite the frosting sticking to the corner of her smile.
Ryuji nods. "Dude, totally," he agrees, matching Ann in her enthusiasm.
xix.b
"You are beautiful," are Yusuke's first words to Ann who, to her credit, only looks a little uncomfortable at the sudden declaration. "Would you perchance consider modelling for me?"
And that, you know, is something she is used to. "Sure! Let's just, uh, try working something that fits both our schedules," she tells him, awkward smile plastered all over her face.
(You imagine you hear Ryuji mutter bloody murder under his breath.)
(You definitely hear Ryuji yell bloody murder once the prospect of nude modelling comes up.)
(Ann joins him.)
xix.c
"How are they not aware that nude modelling could not be farther from anything remotely sexual?" Yusuke pouts, incredulous, whilst pressing a bag of frozen vegetables to the cheek that had met with Ann's wrath.
You just hum a vague sort of reply while busying yourself with getting your dirty laundry into the Laundromat and promise Yusuke to buy him a can of soda once you're done.
And apparently, that is enough to brighten his mood.
xx.
"Tell me," Yusuke begins, perched on a stool by your very much vintage TV set, "what type of art pleases you most?"
Of course, all your answers couldn't possibly satisfy him, though you're touched that he thinks you cultured enough to ask you in the first place.
"Uh," you stall, ever so eloquently. "Like, pictures?"
And as though that was a perfectly reasonable reply, Yusuke nods his head, going off on some tangent about canvas and clay and broken toilets.
xxi.
The first few drops of the day start hitting the windowpane, and Yusuke's head turns at the sound.
It feels almost nostalgic.
xxii.
But when the holidays come, he's gone again for a while.
(Except he isn't- not when he's haunting your dreams.)
(The possible implications of that scare you just a bit.)
xxiii.
"In time, I would like to show you something," Yusuke says, ever so cryptically, upon his return, sometime in late August when the rain is particularly heavy.
And because it's as enigmatic as Yusuke gets, you simply nod.
xxiv.
Some storms simply blow over, you muse as you watch Ryuji chat with Yusuke without too much animosity between them in one of Leblanc's booths.
And yet, there's still something weird in overhearing a conversation between well-meaning (but too scatterbrained to string two coherent sentences in a row together) Ryuji and well-spoken (but archaism-loving to the point of sounding like some character ripped straight from a 16th century drama piece) Yusuke.
Ryuji laughs, a bit fake and high-pitched, and you blink yourself out of your reverie to find him sliding a crudely drawn anime character on a napkin towards a very disgruntled Yusuke.
"Cut him some slack," you yell across the café, and Sojiro cuffs you over the head for startling all the other, nonexistent customers.
xxv.a
You squat down to pet Mona's neck, eliciting a pleased purr. He's a spoiled one, and if Sojiro didn't have a soft-spot for him, you swear he wouldn't be- at least not to this extent.
When you look up, you are greeted by a pair of pant legs.
(Perhaps you jump a bit.)
"It was not my intention to startle you," Yusuke states, stormy-skied eyes fixed on you, still in your work apron in front of a very much closed café Leblanc while petting your cat.
Awkwardly, you straighten up again, and Mona lets out a frustrated little noise before slinking back inside with his head held high. "Business hours are over, you know?" you tease, trying to sound all smooth and natural while wiping your hands on your clothes.
Yusuke looks like he wants to apologise and leave, but before he can do so, you grin at him.
"Come on in."
xxv.b
After he is done questioning the significance of dice for an 8-bit octopus, Yusuke stares at you until it becomes uncomfortable.
"I truly am grateful to you," he says before bidding you farewell, leaving you none the wiser.
xxvi.
"So you think you like him?" Ann asks, brushing her hair over her shoulder way too nonchalantly.
Your feelings are yet too vague to nod, so you just shrug.
Ann offers you some of her fries out of pity.
xxvii.a
The exhibit is large and decorated with all sorts of kitschy pomp. Most visitors' outfits make your favourite H&M blazer look like a sad attempt at being fancy.
Yusuke guides you, not at all sticking out as much as you do, if only because of his graceful features and proudly set shoulders.
"I applied for a prize," he explains, slowing his steps as you come to a halt in front of a large canvas. "For the longest time, I was uncertain on what to submit. Hence, my rain escapades."
He looks a bit bashful at that, suddenly taking a tremendous interest in his shoes. "But had it not been for you, I would have continued my aimless goose chase, never to happen across what could truly inspire me."
Only now do you really take in the painting in front of you; its warm reds, its soothing browns, soft lights highlighting it. You don't understand much about art and even less about abstract paintings, but it feels soft and nice and homely.
"The prize is of little concern to me," Yusuke says, smiling at your transfixed stare. Then, he joins you in looking at the image. "I take it you understand?"
Entranced, you mutter, "yeah."
xxvii.b
"Thank you for coming today," he utters, and bows deep and formal. You almost laugh.
"Thank you for inviting me," you reply, smiling. Then, with a bit more courage and embarrassment, you add, "And thank you also for showing me… yeah."
Yusuke nods, lips twitching upwards. "I would not have had it any other way."
xxviii.
Much later, when autumn has already chilled you to the bone and your phone keeps on buzzing with Ryuji's lamentations of not keeping up with the workload, you feel your feelings settle- warm and simmering and gentle- in the pit of your stomach.
"I like you," you tell Yusuke when Sojiro isn't listening, and you have no idea whether to expect reciprocation or rejection.
But Yusuke only looks surprised for a second before smiling. "I see," he says and then orders another coffee.
xxix.
"How underwhelming," Ann moans, shaking her head.
Ryuji laughs, and it's just a bit patronising.
xxx.
The first droplets of an oncoming downpour hit the roof.
The bell above Leblanc's door jingles.