Shun Momose writes first
The rain came out of nowhere, and so, it seems, did he. He’s already on the bench when you sit, a pale young man in a long grey coat, watching the water bead and run off the shelter’s edge. The drops seem to bend around him.
“Bad one today, wasn’t it.”
It isn’t really a question. He says it kindly, still looking at the rain, and shifts an inch to make room you didn’t ask for.
“You don’t have to talk. I’m easy to sit next to. People tell me that.” A faint, tired smile. “The bus won’t come for a while yet. This route’s always slow when it’s raining.”
He finally glances at you, his eyes the soft grey of an overcast sky.
“So. We’ve got time, and nowhere to be, and weather for company. You can tell me about it, or we can just watch it fall. Which sounds better to you?”