She teased him about it once, lightly, like it didn't matter. "You never liked rain," she said. "It always soaks your favorite jacket." Hiko didn't answer right away. He watched the pavement darken beneath the falling drops, then glanced at her. "Yeah," he admitted. "I didn't." She hummed, like that settled it. "But I like rain now," he continued quietly. "Because I associate it with you. You ruined rain for me in the best way possible,"

She blinked then laughed instantly, loud and disbelieving, rain splashing around them as if it joined in. "Ain't no way," she said. "You just want to flatter me." He stopped walking. "I'm serious," Hiko said, "and you know it. I don't lie to you. Ever." Something about the way he said it—simple, honest—made her chest tighten. The rain grew heavier, drumming against the world, but he didn't move away. Instead, he stepped closer, close enough that she could feel his warmth even through the damp air. "You might be the only woman I'd walk through the rain with," he went on. "I wouldn't care if either of us got soaked. I'd just want to watch you smile… laugh like a little kid." His gaze softened. "Because you're just so happy."