Ayato sat at his desk, the quiet hum of the school drifting in from the open window. Classes were over, but the building still breathed with distant footsteps and the laughter of students lingering in the yard. The late-summer day burned bright outside.

A knock broke the silence.

“Hayashi-san?”

Ayato looked up from the paperwork. “Yes, Otsube-sensei?”

The headmaster stepped inside and slid the door closed. “You don’t have to fool me with this mountain of forms. I know when someone is only pretending to be busy.”

Ayato allowed himself a faint smile and set the pen aside.

“I received a notice from the prefectural board.” Otsube-sensei handed him a sheet. “They’re opening new certification courses at the city hospital. They’d like you to take part.”

Ayato scanned the paper quickly. “So I should be thanking you for volunteering me?”

“I didn’t arrange it,” the older man replied with a small smile. “But I think it’s a good opportunity to refresh your practice.”

“Understood. Thank you.”

Otsube-sensei wandered toward the window, pausing to glance at a poster on the wall. “They’re saying it will rain tonight,” he said.

Ayato followed his gaze to the glaring blue sky. “Hard to believe. Doesn’t look like it at all.”

“Take an umbrella anyway. Maybe stop by a shop on the way home. The storm might get rough overnight,” the headmaster added gently. “Don’t give him a reason to worry about you.”

Ayato’s eyes softened for a moment. He only nodded.

“Good.” Otsube-sensei offered a brief smile and left, the door clicking softly shut behind him.

When the door closed behind Otsube-sensei, Ayato stayed still for a moment. Then, almost unconsciously, he pressed his palms to his temples and leaned forward over the desk. Memories surfaced uninvited – soft voices, a warm laugh, the echo of a life that felt both near and impossibly far.

He drew a long breath, straightened, and walked to the window, sliding his hands into the pockets of his white coat. Outside the courtyard lay in bright afternoon sun, but the trees trembled under a sudden gust. Leaves swirled and branches bowed, a sign of weather shifting fast.

“Maybe it really will rain,” he murmured to himself.

Another rush of wind lifted a stack of papers on his desk with a dry rustle. Ayato turned at the sound, the corner of his mouth softening. “Well… time to head home.”

He slipped off the coat, hung it neatly on the chair, grabbed his bag, and left.

The city streets were already jammed. Cars crawled forward, horns short and impatient. An hour stretched into more as the sky darkened and the first thunder rolled. By the time he reached his building, heavy clouds had swallowed the late light and the wind smelled of wet earth.

In the elevator, a young woman tried to calm her excited little dog, its claws clicking on the floor. On his floor, a door opened somewhere down the hall, spilling laughter and the sound of dishes before closing again.

Ayato unlocked his apartment and stepped into stillness. The windows were already shut from the morning, and the air-conditioning hummed softly. Outside, wind and light rain whispered against the building, but here it was calm – quiet enough that the distant thunder felt like a memory.

He set his bag on the counter and poured a glass of water. His gaze lingered on the photo by the wall: himself and his late husband on their wedding day, smiling among family and friends. Otsube-sensei stood with them in the background, the frozen image warm with a time that would not return.

A soft notification chimed through the apartment, breaking the quiet. Ayato glanced toward the shelf where the landline phone rested beside the wedding photo. For a moment he hesitated, knowing who it must be, then pressed the button to play the message.

“Hello, Ayato,” his mother’s gentle voice filled the room. “I hope you’re doing well. Today is Haruki’s day… don’t forget to light the incense. And maybe buy some pocky – they both loved them. And… say hello to Otsube-san for me.”

There was a pause, the faint sound of her breathing before she continued, softer, “I sometimes think… if we’d had pocky at home that evening, they would never have gone to the shop.”

The message ended, leaving a silence that felt almost heavier than the storm outside.

Ayato set the phone back on the counter and let his eyes settle on the wedding photograph. In it, he stood beside Haruki, both of them dressed in formal white, surrounded by smiling families. Otsube-sensei and his wife stood close to Haruki’s side, Ayato’s parents beside him. Few people knew that the night Ayato lost his husband, he also lost his father in the same accident. The two families had been bound together ever since by that shared loss and quiet grief.

He finally turned toward the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. Empty shelves stared back. A small, wry breath escaped him.

“Well… looks like I’ll have to go to the shop after all,” he murmured.

Ayato sat on the sofa for a while, listening to the muffled storm outside. At last he stood and walked to the door without changing clothes. A wicker basket by the entrance held a neatly folded umbrella. He paused, remembering Otsube-sensei’s words, then reached for it with a quiet sigh.

Outside the world had shifted. Rain fell in restless sheets, thunder rolled above the dark skyline, and gusts of wind pushed stray leaves across the pavement. He crossed the street toward the small neighborhood shop – one he visited often, though less frequently during the summer.

A sudden metallic bang cut through the sound of the storm. Ayato turned toward it, a strange pull tightening in his chest even before his eyes found the source. The faint, familiar sensation of the bond stirred first; only then did he see the figure wrestling with a fallen sandwich board in the rain.

“Why is it always me,” he muttered, striding closer.

The wind whipped at his clothes as he held the umbrella higher. “Let me help—hold this.”

“Hayashi-senpai?” Yahiko looked up, startled, as the dark canopy slid over his head.

“Please, hold the door,” Ayato said calmly, bending to lift the heavy sign.

“S-sure!” Yahiko hurried to push the door open, keeping the umbrella steady overhead.

“Here, this way!” Sumimoto-san called from inside, reaching to take the wet stand.

Ayato carried it in, water trailing behind him. Yahiko followed and folded the umbrella neatly before handing it back.

“Some weather, huh,” Yahiko said with a quick, almost cheerful smile, shaking rain from his hair.

“Takahaya-kun, can you help me at the register?” Sumimoto-san called from behind the counter.

“Yes!” Yahiko hurried over, brushing rain from his sleeves.

The shop owner glanced toward Ayato, who was standing by a shelf with quiet composure. “Friend of yours? You two look like you know each other.”

“N-no, not really,” Yahiko stammered, heat rushing to his cheeks.

“Oh?”

Yahiko scratched the back of his neck. “I mean… he’s just… helpful. He helped me with the sign outside, that’s all.”

Sumimoto-san chuckled lightly. “Ah, I see. A polite man, then. Nice of him.”

Yahiko’s heart skipped, the words landing oddly in his chest. “Y-yeah… helpful,” he echoed, a little too quickly.

“Well, I’ll finish up at the back door. Handle the customers here, all right?”

“Sure,” Yahiko said, trying to steady his voice.

The next few minutes blurred. Yahiko worked on autopilot – smiling, bagging groceries, giving change – careful not to glance toward where Ayato might be. The storm outside drummed harder, making the lights seem sharper and the air heavier.

The bell over the door chimed – and Ayato was suddenly there.

He stepped up to the counter with a few packets of pocky. Yahiko’s breath caught, a fine shiver running along his spine.

“Anything else?” he asked, trying to keep his tone even. Something in the air felt strange – charged – but he couldn’t name it. Was it the storm outside? The bright lights against the rain-dark windows? Or the subtle pull of the mark under his bandage?

“No. Just these,” Ayato replied calmly.

Yahiko swallowed, remembering the articles he’d read late at night: shivers, sudden chills, a quickened pulse – side effects of a bond. It all fitted too well.

Yahiko swallowed. “That’ll be —yen. Cash or card?”

“Cash.”

Their fingers brushed briefly as he passed the change. Ayato gave a short nod, took the bag, and left without another word.