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Whenever lightning flashes through his window, Ryota braces himself against his desk. Thunder booms, he flinches and his pencil reunites with its tablet. He hates storms and, although his parents' house sits far from the brunt of its force, every new typhoon season lasts longer than the last. How long until one lasts forever?
Nothing lasts forever. His pen slows as the bitterness in his chest stirs. Its resilience has started to wear him thin, thinner than his only friend had ever let him get. The same one that vanished without warning. Left him to fend for himself at their graduation ceremony, where his classmates met him for the first time. Months have passed since and he still calls them a friend.
Through the night's murmur, the doorbell faintly rings. A visitor during a rainstorm?
Could it be…?
He shakes his head and reminds himself Mom would handle it.
His parents remain his primary mode of communication with the outside, despite the best efforts of his ex-classmates. None had known him for longer than a day, and yet all were familiar with him to the point of discomfort. No interaction could pass without a reminder of his loss. An anime he hasn't watched, a food he's never tried — a trait he never had, but his friend did.
The front door shuts. No visitor after all. That should be what he wants, yet he glances out his window, past the battered branches and into their murky yard. A glimpse is what he wants.
Lightning strikes, and Ryota drops his pen.
Is that—
Thunder roars as he stumbles out of his room and down the stairs.
Mom, halfway through the kitchen doorway, stops to watch him nearly slam into the front door. "What's this? What's gotten into you?"
"Who—" One sprint and he's out of breath. "Who was that?"
"Just another one of those weirdo Hope's Peak fanatics."
"Is that what they said?"
"No, they said" — she has already written his question off — "something about talking to you, I don't know."
"And you turned them away?!"
"Ryota." She crosses her arms, looking down at him like she did when he was a toddler. "These people have been showing up for months."
And she never told him? "R-Right… That one was my friend."
"That…was Byakuya Togami?" During high school, he had mentioned his friend to her, but he always held off on the details. Their name, their real talent, the deal they had struck. Now that she has met them in the flesh, those missing details lace her words with disbelief. "Your only friend?"
"T-They're not—"
"If you want to go out and retrieve them — be my guest. I won't tell Dad."
Ryota swings the door open, but it's reticent to stay open and fight against the winds. Raindrops fly past the eaves and pelt him before he steps out and peer into the darkness.
At the end of the winding path through the yard, the visitor struggles with latch on the gates. Caught with only the jacket on their back, they use their arm to block the curtain of rain and, by extension, the streetlight above. With a frustrated groan, they pause to wipe their black hair out of their face. Disguised or not, it must be them.
Ryota's heart nearly tugs him out of his shelter. "Byakuya!"
Lightning casts a stark shadow across their face. Despite their shock, those striking eyes are unmistakably theirs.
So they did follow him. Like thunder follows lightning.
The thunder startles him.
Shock turns to dread and they turn away, leaving their hand out to shoo him away.
"Wait, come back!"
They flip the latch and open the gate.
Why are they ignoring him? Leaving again? Why show up at all if…?
No. He can't let them go without a fight.
Before Ryota can step in, Mom shoves an umbrella into his hands.
He nearly drops it. "You're, um, eager—"
"One of us has to be." Before he can ask what that means, she slams the door open, startling both him and his friend.
Hovering outside the closed gate, they mouth… something, shooing him off with their whole arm this time. If they wanted him to give up, they should've run off while they still could. They know so better than anyone.
Ryota runs out.
The rain thunders down on his umbrella. With every trudging step, his slippers sink deeper into the mud. The winds wrestle the umbrella from his grip and give him a glimpse of his friend. Out in the open; soaked to the bone.
As stoic as ever. How are they so strong? Or is he just weak?
Lightning strikes. As he holds the umbrella to his chest, the gate cries out.
Before the thunder can reach him, their clammy hand wraps around his and pulls him close.
"You idiot…" They turn him by the shoulder and push him back towards his house. "You're going to catch a cold."
His bitterness bursts out of its bottle. "And you aren't?"
It settles under the eave. Softened by the light from the windows, their fierce eyebrows are undercut by the wobbling of their blue lips. They can tell so at a glance, shoulders slumping as they curse under their breath. "Dammit."
"A-Are you okay?!"
"I've been through worse." They turn their back on him to shake his umbrella out.
"That…didn't answer my question."
"Look, I can tell what you're thinking."
"You can?"
"Yes, and I'll be fine." They sigh, offering the umbrella back. "It was stupid of me to come here. Just forget you saw me. Better yet, forget you ever met me."
"I don't want to." Ryota clasps his hands over theirs.
Its colder than his, than the umbrella's handle. Sapped, shaking like the rest of them.
"Why can't you stay?" he asks — no, pleads, "At least the night…?"
They would've dropped the umbrella were it not for his hands. "What are you going to tell your parents?"
"Mom knows you're my friend, and Dad… uh…"
"I'm soaked from head to toe and I smell like typhoon season," they say and tug their hand away, too weakly to escape even his grasp.
"Imposter."
They flinch, and he flinches in turn, letting go of their hand. "S-Sorry, is that not—"
"No, it's fine, you just never…" They break eye contact first, grabbing their hand where his was a moment prior. "It's not…really a name, is it?"
What is this uncertainty? Was it genuinely difficult for them to show up? To extend a hand? Ask for a modicum of help after the 3 years they spent taking care of him?
The essence of a thought forms where the answer to his questions should be. Not quite congealed, nor coherent, but warm enough to melt his bitterness away.
Emboldened by a flash of lightning, Ryota asks, "Do you trust me?"
Their expression holds, unwavering in the face of the thunder. Yet the longer they consider, the less confident they seem, as if trust is far riskier than braving the storm.
With a quick nod, they tuck his umbrella under his arm and open the door for him. He leaves his slippers outside.
As soon as the door closes, Mom steps away from the window. "They can stay—"
"Were you eavesdropping?!"
"Thought that was my last chance to meet this elusive friend of yours! They've got such a nice, deep voice, too." She cups her cheek. "As I was saying, they can stay the night. Maybe until this horrible weather ends, if they pull their weight."
"Who?" Dad grumbles from the kitchen, phone in hand. Although the weather forced him to work from home, he shouldn't be working at this hour anyway.
"His friend the imposter."
This only confused Dad more. "You're letting a what stay in our house?"
Confusion always frustrates him, but Mom never takes that seriously. "An imposter."
"Like a fraudster? A criminal?"
"An Ultimate Imposter, yes. Around Ryota's age."
"What does this change?" he growls, but it's hardly a bark, let alone a bite.
"Well, the poor darling looks like a cat that got thrown in a washing machine… Probably doesn't smell like one, unfortunately."
"And where is this kitty cat going to stay the night?"
"My room," Ryota blurts out, having prepared his answer before Dad walked in. He second guesses it once they have both stared at him for a few seconds. "We have a spare futon, d-don't we?"
"That'll work," Dad mutters, unlocking his phone, "But this imposter fellow can't stay too long."
Mom asks Ryota, "Aren't they going to bother you while you work?"
"No, they used to stay in my dorm all the time."
"Oh? Since you lied about their talent, is there anything else you lied about…?"
"Stop teasing him," Dad says, rolling his eyes, "There's nothing on the news about a teenage fugitive on the run, so you're in the clear…for now. Let your friend in before they freeze to death. I'll get the futon."
An excuse. As much as Ryota's parents got on him for being a recluse, Mom was the one to always greet the guests.
"Would calling them 'friend' be insulting?" she asks, and Ryota shrugs. Better than imposter, still not much of a name. "On that note, is it miss or mister?" He shrugs again. "Right. Let them in. I need to grab something." As she turns to leave, she says, more to herself than him, "So they really are just as elusive as you made them sound…"
Elusive is right. Except Ryota never tried to find out more. He couldn't risk scaring them off. Look where that got him. A sudden departure rectified months later.
When Ryota reopens the door, the imposter jumps.
"Are you sure about this?" they ask.
"They agreed to a night. More if you behave."
"That's… more than I could've asked for, but are you sure?"
After five minutes or so of soft-spoken ushering, his friend is in his house, watching the puddles gather at their feet. When Ryota offers to take their jacket, they hesitantly drape it over his arms. Thick and heavy, a pain in the back, but their upper body could not be dryer. Until their hair drips all over them.
A short-sleeved T-shirt in this weather? Who could they be impersonating?
"Are you going to be cold?" Ryota asks having left the jacket to dry in the laundry room.
They thumb at the backpack on their back, previously concealed. "Got spare clothes."
"Perfect," Mom says as she walks down the stairs, a spare towel over her shoulder, "It's a pleasure to meet you. I've heard both all and nothing about you."
Despite their reserved demeanour, they take her outstretched hand with the confidence of a seasoned businessman. "It's a pleasure to meet you, too. Thank you for letting me stay the night, I'll be out before you know it."
"No need for all this hurry…" She smiles and Ryota has to wonder if she's scheming. What she'd be scheming and more so why is beyond him. "You made my son's high school days."
"Likewise." More literally than she could imagine.
"Now, dry yourself off" — she chucks the towel into their arms — "and go get situated in Ryota's room. I'll call you down when I finish drawing a bath for you."
"Oh, there's no need for that, I can—"
"I'll call you down when I finish drawing a bath for you."
They falter, towel left plopped on their head, before nodding. "Thank you."
"Glad we came to an understanding."
Once Mom is upstairs again, Ryota says, "Sorry about that… I don't know what's gotten into her."
"It's not every day you get a visitor on a dark and stormy night." Their lips have stopped wobbling, but, as the towel switches hands, they rub their pruned fingers. "You never… mentioned your parents before."
"Oh, um…" Back at Hope's Peak, his friend never asked about them, even after he said no one would not he's gone. He appreciated that during those tumultuous times, when he was convinced his parents thought of him as nothing but a burden. Since his graduation, they've changed. Treated him like an adult — a real person. He still isn't sure what to make of it.
As they finish rustling their hair dry, they catch on and change the topic. "Thank you for this."
"How'd…you get stranded like that?"
"I had a stay at a hotel booked, but" — they wipe their face, muffling the rest — "it fell through. I don't know if someone outed me or…"
"Who could've outed you?"
"You'd be surprised. I have to keep moving for a reason."
This is a pit stop for them. As glad as he should be to see them at all, his heart whines, mourning already.
"The wind rendered my umbrella useless, and…most outside shelters…" They trail off, grimacing as they turn their head from him. "I guess I got desperate."
If only they didn't need to get desperate to visit him.
They wipe their boots down before taking them off. "It was a risky move."
"Risky?"
"There was no way for me to predict you'd let me in after I left."
"There's no way I wouldn't have."
They turn to him with a wistful smile. "How can you be so sure about that?"
Bitterness is reasonable. Resentment less so. Enough spite to let them freeze in the rain…? All because they left without warning?
Ryota should've called them out on that, but he was too stunned. By the time they prompted him to head upstairs, it was way too late. Why did he always have to be so meek—
Thunder cuts his rumination short; fifth time since their shower started. They'd be done soon, and they'd lie down over — he swivels his chair towards the spare futon next to his bed — there. Although they have been around him while he slept plenty of times, the reverse doesn't hold. Probably because they have to sleep without a disguise. Are they scared he'll look?
Scared of him? His parents? They folded under the slightest pressure from Mom. They insisted on returning to the cold, flooding streets until he ran after them. They asked if it's okay, over and over again, after he said it was. Was their fearfulness so blindingly obvious the whole time?
Thunder accompanies their knock.
Ryota saves his work. "Come in."
Carefully, they enter. Their hair, wet again, is clean and…
Not a wig. No makeup. Those patched-up pyjamas are not a part of a disguise.
This is what they look like? A perfect mix of alternating soft and sharp features? Those eyes? Ryota couldn't imagine hiding such beauty. Not that he can bring that up without ruining their evening. And his, he blushes.
"Hope I didn't take too long," they mumble, placing a bowl of soup next to his keyboard.
"Is…this for me?"
They pause. Then pick it up. "Force of habit."
He smiles, somewhat glad for the change of pace. "Did Mom make you take that?"
"Yes." They stand by his desk, unsure what to do with themself. Their eyes wander to his shelves, filled to the brim with manga and figurines and pass over his posters and framed animation cels before landing on his unmade bed. Are they judging him? "After I declined leftovers."
"You what?" He half-expects them to change their answer.
"I declined."
"Why?"
"I don't intend to overstay my welcome."
Their subdued panic is undetectable through visual cues, but he can pick up on the implications in their words. "That doesn't mean you have to act like you're not here."
"Is that not what you'd do?"
Ryota raises an eyebrow.
"You wouldn't have accepted the leftovers."
"But I had dinner."
"You did?"
"Did you?"
"No," they say, frowning in confusion, "But you wouldn't have accepted leftovers even if you hadn't eaten, no?"
He frowns in turn, gentler. "Why are you trying to act like me?"
In their attempt to verbalise their reasoning, his friend only confuses themself. Their cheeks redden as they register themself. "I don't want to burden your family for longer than needed."
"You're not going to."
"Do you seriously believe you'd be able to support my appetite for longer than a day?" A statement of fact or a prideful stance, he could never tell.
"Well, um…there's a McDonald's nearby."
Their immediate intrigue almost made him laugh. How adorable. "Nearby?"
"Twenty minutes on foot…?"
"Point taken." So easy to please… "I'll ask for the leftovers after breakfast."
"Why not now?"
"And come off as both unreliable and demanding?"
"You're hungry, aren't you?"
"Of course, a bowl of soup is measly even for you, but I've lived off of less. Besides, the leftovers probably won't be enough, anyway."
To their utter confusion, Ryota stands up. "Let's just say I convinced you."
"I… can't complain, but your father is in the kitchen… Are you sure?"
Despite his initial suspicion, Dad got along fine with Ryota's friend. Whether due to their talent or their natural charisma, which may be one in the same, they got him talking about his job in details Ryota has never heard before. He wasn't sure Mom even knew that much. Tepidly, Dad wished the two a good night as they left, and returned to his late hours.
In Ryota's room, the two return to their routine as if they had never left. Ryota animates at his desk and his friend sits on the futon, reorganising their backpack. Except he glances over every so often. Checking their progress. Wishing they'd never finish.
They startle him when they look up with that same wistful smile. When did they notice him staring? They ask, "When are you going to bed?"
"Oh, um… Just go whenever." He fidgets with his pen. "I can't sleep anyway. The thunder a-always wakes me up."
"Right." They stand and walk up to his door, placing their hand on the knob. "Can I lock this?"
Did that make them feel more safe? "Uhhhh, yeah, I don't see why not."
A click followed by approaching footsteps.
He spins straight into their embrace, where they cradle his head into their shoulder. Soft. Familiarly warm. His breath hitches.
"Thank you, I…I can't begin to explain how much this means to me." They give him a gentle squeeze, nuzzling into the top of his head. "I would stay here, if I could. I really would."
And, just like that, before he can even reciprocate, they let go.
He touches his cheek where their chest was. Presses his cold, bony hand in. He's mourning them again. Why does he have to keep mourning them?
"Why not?" he asks, more like a petulant child than a man of his age, "Why can't you stay?"
That damn smile. What do they have to be so wistful about? "I don't think I could even name all of the reasons."
"Is there nothing we can do…?" He stands, grabbing their hands before they can leave. "Nothing I can do?"
They stare at their intertwined fingers, tensing as if to test his presence. Their presence. "Nothing that won't pull on any strings."
"I don't expect it to be easy…"
"No… No, it isn't. It wouldn't be." They relax, but don't let go. "I wouldn't want to put such a heavy burden on you."
"It's not heavy if it's with you."
A deep-seated pain twists their smile. "You don't mean that."
"I do, I—" His throat tightens as he pushes the words through, "I missed you."
"Ryota…" The pain fades, leaving them more withdrawn — sombre. "I'm sorry, I should've been more careful. I-I shouldn't have let you get so attached to someone like me—"
"No. Stop. As Mom said, you really did make my high school… Even if we can only meet every few months, or years, so be it, but my house is always open to you, okay?"
"Always…" they echo, unable to parse such foreign words.
"And before you ask…" Ryota chuckles, holding back tears. "I'm as sure as I can be."