The rain: that's how it all began.

Hannelore was standing in the breakroom, staring out the window with an increasingly grim expression. The disproportionate enormity of the window made her look smaller than she actually was, shrinking into nothingness in the shimmering void of the rain.

She'd already changed, so she was wearing her street clothes -- nothing special, just a pullover hoodie and jeans. The front pocket of her sweatshirt tightened in her balled fists. "Shit," she muttered, breaking the silence of the breakroom with an exaggerated groan.

It was beautiful outside, a glorious summer day. The City, this sprawling, haphazardly-designed metropolis, basked in the sun's rays; pedestrians felt the cool breeze whisk along the backs of exposed knees, necks, and arms; families enjoyed outings at the parks and beaches. And business was good at the restaurant.

It was raining anyway. A sunshower, it was called, that phenomenon where rain fell as the sun shined. Days like this were actually pretty good for business, not that that was Hannelore's concern: her shift was over, and she was going home.

Too bad about the fucking rain.

Hannelore looked like she'd just smelled an open sulfur deposit. Her nose was scrunched up with annoyance in that way her friends always made fun of; her eyes, hazel and swallow-tailed, rolled to the side as if in defiance of a rival storm god.

Man... she had to walk home in this shit. And she didn't even have an umbrella.

A sigh, a groan. No more beating around the bush. It was time to go. Hannelore hitched her purse securely onto her shoulder, gripped it, and walked out of the breakroom...

...right into Maris, one of the resident pastry chefs. They both shrieked as they startled one another, drawing the attention of a couple of nearby chatting servers.

Maris doubled over, grabbing his knees.

"Watch where you're going!" Hannelore yelled, replacing a few things that had fallen out of her purse in the collision.

"Sorry, sorry!" Maris was still recovering from his fright, taking over-dramatic breaths. "I wasn't paying attention."

Hannelore sighed. "No, I'm sorry... I'm just in kind of a shitty mood."

Maris straightened himself and patted the front of his apron, sending small clouds of powdered sugar into the air. "About the rain?"

"Partly, yeah."

Maris adjusted his glasses. They were always sliding down his face, but in the two-ish years Hannelore had known him he had never bothered to replace them. He regained the soft smile he almost always wore.

Maris's ever-present smile had become an in-joke among the restaurant staff; new hires who hadn't yet learned their coworkers' names almost uniformly referred to him as "that chef who smiles a lot" or "the smiling guy." It wasn't, like, creepy or anything -- Hannelore found it endearing, as did most of the staff.

"I've got an umbrella," he said, voice measured and gentle. "I'm about to clock out." He was untying his apron strings. "Walk you home?"

Hannelore smiled. "Thanks, Mar." She pronounced his nickname like she was referring to a female horse.

"Give me a sec," Maris said, before disappearing into the men's locker room.

Hannelore leaned against the wall by the entrance to the staff room and took out her phone. Momoko, her roommate, had sent her a few texts.

"yo hanners i think u forgot ur keys (⌯˃̶᷄ ﹏ ˂̶᷄⌯)"

"i would drop them off but i'm at work ( ≧Д≦)"

"will u ever forgive me?? (๑◕︵◕๑)"

Ah, fuck. Hannelore silently mouthed that last word a few times as she brought her purse up with one hand and searched it with the other. Wallet, check. Pepper spray, check... Fuck. Shit. A quick scan of the ground -- maybe I dropped when I ran into Mar -- turned up nothing, as well.

She'd been running late that morning. Momo was hanging out in the living room, eating cereal and watching TV; Hannelore stumbled out of her room, brushing her hair and teeth at the same time.

"Breakfast?" Momo asked, nudging the cereal box across the coffee table.

"No time," Hannelore mumbled around the toothbrush. "Gotta go!"

She grabbed her purse, waved goodbye, and put on her shoes, hopping on one foot as she pulled one on. She hopped out of the apartment, ran down the walkway, and made her way to work... and left her keys on the counter.

Fuuuuuck. She sighed and ran her hand through her hair, undoing some of her work.

Maris emerged from the locker room in his street clothes. He was wearing a plain white sweater that clung to his somewhat stocky frame and skinny jeans that emphasized it further. "Oh," he said, reading her expression. "You look, umm... upset."

Hannelore looked up at him with a fatalistic expression. "I forgot my keys."

"Oh. Well, your roommate --"

"Is at work." Hannelore sighed. She was quiet for a moment. "Umm, Mar... could I maybe hang at your place until Momo gets back?"

Maris looked uneasy for a moment -- but only for a moment. "Uh, sure!"

"Thanks," Hannelore said, smiling a little. "You're a lifesaver."

"I am pretty great." He was holding a black umbrella. "C'mon."

Hannelore followed the pâtissier out of the restaurant and onto the street.

The rain had picked up, and even though the sun was still shining the sidewalks were absolutely drenched. The pair had to sidestep puddles and watch out for splashing from passing cars.

Maris's umbrella was a little too small to adequately cover the two of them, so he kept hovering it over Hannelore, allowing himself to take the brunt of the deluge.

"You don't have to do that," Hannelore said.

"It's okay," Maris replied, hair slick with rain. "It's not that bad."

"You're already drenched. You're gonna get sick."

He was still wearing that smile. "I'll be fine." His lenses were totally soaked; Hannelore wondered if he could even see where he was going. "Besides... I love the rain."

"Yeah?"

"I always have." He was quiet for a moment. "It helps me sleep, y'know?"

"Yeah," she replied. She decided to humor his insistent self-sacrifice by staying under the umbrella and allowing him to keep it above her. "Momo gets off work at 6:00... are you sure it's okay for me to stay? I could go to the library or something, if --"

He waved her off. "No, no," he said. "It's okay! Really."

"I feel bad for inviting myself over." She played with the edge of her hoodie pocket.

"Don't."

"You sure?"

"I'm sure. I'll make us tea or something." He made a small noise. "Besides... it'll be nice to be... neighborly, y'know?"

Hannelore smiled up at him. "Sure."

They passed the street vendors, the specialty shops, the high-end fashion and tech stores... they passed a watch repair shop, a cybernetic body customization workshop, a money exchange... they passed a butcher's (Maris, one of the few vegetarians on staff, involuntarily made a face when he saw the window display), a travel agency, an optical and auditory implant specialist... they took in the sights of this small corner of the City, where the very old and the very new lived side-by-side in relative harmony.

It took them about twenty minutes to get back to their apartment building. This section of the City was heavily inspired by 2000s-era Japan, even though the majority of people who lived there were not Japanese (and the City itself was not located in Japan). The City was weird that way -- a fever dream conjured by hipsters nostalgic for an imaginary time.

They entered the outside elevator.

Maris punched the button for the 17th floor, then backed away from the closing doors. He was soaked but didn't look bothered in the least. "Wow," he said, running his hand through his hair.

"Yeah," Hannelore said. Despite her guilt at enabling Maris, she smiled. "Wow." A thin trickle of rain dripped steadily from the hem of Maris's jeans, pooling near his shoes. Hannelore's face fell. "Shit, you're dripping wet. I'm so sorry."

Maris waved her off again. "I told you, I'm fine. I just need to change."

Water was pooling near Hannelore's feet, too, dripping from the nib at the top of the now-folded umbrella. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it."

They reached their floor and stepped out onto the open-air walkway. From here they had a great view of the City, of the spread-out neighborhoods, of the horizon-spanning skyline at which they terminated.

Maris unlocked his door. "You can leave the umbrella out here," he said, and after his companion leaned the umbrella against the wall, balancing on its nib, he gestured her inside. Maris took off his shoes and set them beside the umbrella, then followed Hannelore inside.

"Go ahead and get comfy," he said, passing through his living room and toward his hallway. "I'm gonna change, okay?"

"Sure," Hannelore replied, taking a seat on the couch.

Maris disappeared into the hallway; Hannelore heard what she presumed was his bedroom door open, then close. She scanned his living room.

The pâtissier kept a clean house. Minimalist, even. The layout was the same as Hannelore's place, only reversed -- for example, Maris's bedroom was on the righthand side of the apartment, whereas Hannelore's was on the left. It suddenly occurred to Hannelore that her bedroom most likely adjoined Maris's.

Aside from an overfull bookshelf, Maris didn't seem interested in decorating his apartment. Speaking of books, there was one sitting on the coffee table. Hannelore picked it up, turned it over in her hand. Venus in Furs. The title sounded familiar. There was definitely a Velvet Underground song with that name.

Hannelore'd her bag on the floor in front of the couch. Her phone was nestling on her stomach; she idly tapped the back of her phone case with her fingernails. She'd recently painted them dark green; they stood out, surrounded by light, peachy skin.

Her shoes were sitting beside the front door. This was a habit of hers -- she and Momo always dumped their shoes by the entrance whenever they walked inside, and this didn't change when she was in someone else's home. Her socks were mercifully dry; she wiggled her toes and brought her legs up against her chest.

Hannelore watched the rain through the window.

Maris stripped off his clothes and dumped them in a hamper. He'd pulled a towel from the linen closet, used it to wipe himself down. The towel soon joined its fallen comrades in the hamper.

He was still for a moment. It had been a while since he'd had anyone over. Despite having no intention of letting Hannelore into his bedroom he moved to the closet and closed the door, then set the hamper in front of it as a sort of ward.

A minute shame buzzed through his body. That familiar, distinct feeling of fucked-up-ness soon subsided, but nightmare scenarios still ran through his brain: every time, every time he had someone over, his worst fear was that his guest would somehow discover what he kept in his closet.

With a sigh Maris pulled on a t-shirt, clean jeans, and a cardigan. He pulled on some socks, left his room, closed the door, and headed back into the living room.

Hannelore was making herself comfortable on the couch.

"Hey," said Maris with a smile.

"Hey," she replied, returning it.