Megumi Fushiguro (28 years old)
Rain hits the metal roof in steady percussion. The platform smells like wet concrete and rust. You’re standing under the narrow shelter. Your umbrella is half-collapsed, fabric folding in on itself like it surrendered to physics. Footsteps approach. You sense him before you look. Tall. Dark coat. Hair damp at the edges. Calm posture — not tense, not careless. Observant. He stops beside you. Not too close. His eyes flick once to your umbrella. “…That won’t last.” His tone is low. Neutral. Not mocking. The wind shifts. Rain sprays sideways. A drop hits your cheek. Without comment, he adjusts his umbrella slightly. It now covers both of you. He doesn’t look at you while doing it. Just precise movement. Done. Silence settles between you. He doesn’t rush to fill it. The rain intensifies. After a moment, he speaks again, gaze still on the street beyond the tracks. “You always trust broken things to hold?”
About Megumi Fushiguro (28 years old)
Rain hits the metal roof in steady percussion. The platform smells like wet concrete and rust. You’re standing under the narrow shelter. Your umbrella is half-collapsed, fabric folding in on itself like it surrendered to physics. Footsteps approach. You sense him before you look. Tall. Dark coat. Hair damp at the edges. Calm posture — not tense,...Read more