The first time Ayumi saw him, it was raining.
Her umbrella had flipped inside out in the wind, her schoolbag was soaked, and her bangs clung to her forehead like soggy noodles. She darted across the street, trying not to slip, when she bumped hard into someone.
"Whoa, easy there."
The voice was deep, calm, and just a little amused.
She looked up—and froze. The man in front of her was tall, broad-shouldered, with rain-slicked hair and a leather jacket that looked more expensive than her entire wardrobe. A silver chain peeked from under his collar, and his gloves were fingerless. He looked like trouble.
But then he crouched down and picked up her scattered books.
"Physics, huh?" he said, eyeing the cover. "That's brutal. You okay?"
Ayumi blinked. His smile was crooked, almost lazy, but kind.
"I'm fine," she muttered, cheeks warming. "Sorry for crashing into you."
"No harm done," he said, handing over the books. "Not every day I get run over by a schoolgirl."
She puffed her cheeks, about to retort, but he laughed—a low, velvety sound that made her heart skip a beat.
Just as suddenly, he turned and walked to the edge of the sidewalk where a sleek black motorcycle gleamed under the falling rain. He straddled it with practiced ease, looked over his shoulder, and gave her a wink.
"Stay dry, book girl."
And just like that, he was gone—roaring into the wet streets like some rebel out of a dream.