It began raining before the sun set, a shy and thin rain at first... the sort of drizzle that softened neon lights into watercolor smudges. By the time the sky darkened to a bruise-violet hue, it had begun to pour seriously, flooding the streets with reflection.
Somewhere in those thoughts strode "Ren", shoulders slumped under a faded gray hoodie, a flimsy plastic bag clutched to his chest to protect a few notebooks within. His shoes were wet, the soles worn down so thin they could feel the outline of each shattered tile on the ground.
The city pulsed with life... too much life. Cars rushed through puddles, streetlights flashed like sleep-deprived eyes, and people walked by him without ever truly looking at him.
He had once believed that invisibility would hurt. Now he preferred it to being seen.
Ren was lovely in a manner not of this world.
Not the boisterous, jagged kind of loveliness that shouted to be heard... his was subdued, delicate, almost sorrowful. His skin was the pale color of unlit porcelain, his lips soft and colorless, black hair falling just below his eyes, stuck to his cheeks by the rain. When light touched him, it slid down his skin as if it couldn't grip. His eyes... dark gray, nearly storm-colored... held something too heavy for a man almost in his twenties.
He had a birthmark on the nape of his neck, just below the edge of his wet hair... a beautiful pattern, the shape of a crescent moon wrapped around a torn wing. It stopped short, as if the rest had been left behind by the world. He never gave it much notice, except sometimes, when he caught sight of it in the mirror, it seemed like it was. waiting.
Ren spent his days working at a convenience store and assisted a delivery outlet at night. Two jobs that barely paid the bills. He ate once a day, twice sometimes if he was lucky at finding expired bentos the store discarded.
His landlord had been lenient... at least for a little while.
When he arrived at the building, the hallway lights fluttered as if they did not want to remain alive. His apartment was on the fourth floor, where the air also smelled of wet walls and stale smoke. The elevator had not functioned for months.
He stood outside his door, brushing rain from his sleeves before taking out the key.
The lock clicked... but as soon as he pushed the door ajar, a voice cut from the darkness within.
"Three months, Ren. Three months and not a single damn yen of rent."
Ren tensed. His landlord, Mr. Han, glared at him, bulky and furious, the hallway light cutting half his face in darkness.
"I-I said I'd pay soon," Ren babbled, voice gentle, shaking not with fear but fatigue. "Just give me a week-"
"You said that last week," Han's voice snapped like thunder. He advanced on her, his breath full of booze. "You think I'm operating a charity? You think your pretty face pays the rent?"
Ren winced. "Please, I just-"
"Get out."
The words cut harder than any slap.
Ren blinked at him, the world inside his chest crashing in slow motion. "Now?"
"Now."
Han flung the door open and gestured toward the hallway. "Take your things. Don't make me drag you."
Ren didn't protest. He didn't sob. He walked slowly, deliberately, like a man who had practiced losing everything first. A half-pack of folded shirts, a toothbrush, a picture wedged between pages of a well-worn notebook... all went neatly into his palms.
When he turned to walk away, Han was already locking the door behind him.
By the time Ren returned to the street, the rain had grown colder, thicker, cutting through the air like cold wires. His breath plumed.
He waited beneath the cover of a shuttered store, placing the suitcase on the ground beside him. The city smelled of wet pavement and hot food from a vendor nearby. Groups of people rushed past, holding umbrellas and not looking at him.
He stared at them for a long time, his expression serene, almost peaceful. Inside, however, everything was aching... not anger, not pain, just a sort of quiet that stung worse than either.
He yanked down the hoodie, exposing the curve of his neck, the line of that odd mark glinting wetly with rain. In the moving light of the streetlamp, it seemed to shift.
Ren absently rubbed it.
"Perhaps this is what I am worth," he whispered to nobody, voice hidden in the rain.
And then, gently, almost kindly, he smiled... not with joy, but with the soft resignation of a man who had given up waiting for the world to be gentle.
The rain had thinned to a hush, like the city had grown tired of weeping.
Water dripped from the awning in slow, rhythmic taps... the only sound in the quiet stretch of street where Ren sat, his suitcase beside him like a loyal, useless friend.
The air smelled of metal and wet earth. A neon sign buzzed somewhere above, stuttering between red and blue, washing his skin in shifting color. Each pulse made him look almost unreal... too pale, too still, a figure half-made of light and rain.
He had nowhere to go. The buses had stopped; the shops were shuttered. The night pressed close around him, patient and heavy.
I'll rest for a while, he thought. Then… maybe I'll walk.
He didn't finish the sentence, because there was nowhere for it to end.
His head tilted back against the wall. For a moment, he watched the thin steam rise from the pavement and thought it looked like ghosts leaving the ground. His fingers brushed the edge of his hoodie; a drop of rain slid down his neck, tracing the curve of that strange birthmark... a half-formed crescent twisted around a broken wing. The line gleamed faintly, like ink waking under moonlight.
He shivered.
Then the light changed.
At first it was only the reflection... white headlights turning the puddles into shards of glass. Then came the low hum of an engine, too smooth, too controlled. A black car rolled to a stop in front of him, sleek as shadow, its surface swallowing the streetlights.
The window lowered.
Ren's reflection vanished in the glass, replaced by a man's face... sharp jaw, dark eyes, the kind of calm that made everything else feel loud. His suit was immaculate, not a thread out of place; his voice, when it came, was soft, almost kind.
"You shouldn't sit here in the rain," he said. "You'll catch a cold."
Ren blinked, unsure if he'd spoken the words aloud. "I'm fine," he murmured.
"You look like someone who isn't."
The man stepped out of the car, the door closing behind him with a muted click. Rain didn't seem to touch him. He stood beneath the streetlight, tall and composed, black umbrella tilting slightly over Ren.
Up close, his face was too perfect... not in beauty, but in symmetry, the kind that felt designed rather than born. He offered a faint smile.
"What's your name?"
"Ren."
The man nodded slowly, as if the name confirmed something. "You work hard, don't you?"
Ren hesitated. "You could say that."
"I could," the man said, "but I'd rather offer you a job."
Ren looked up, the world suddenly too quiet. "A job?"
"There's a house that needs tending. Big, old, lonely place. I'm only there on occasion. You'd keep it clean, air the rooms, make sure it doesn't fall apart." He slipped a small card from his pocket and held it out. "If you're interested, come by tomorrow evening. The address is on it."
Ren took the card automatically. The paper felt oddly warm, almost alive under his fingers.
"Why me?" he asked.
The man's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Because you're the only one who'd say yes."
Then he turned, walked back to the car, and was gone... engine purring softly, taillights vanishing into the blur of rain.
Ren sat there for a long time, staring at the card. The ink shimmered faintly in the streetlight, the address written in looping strokes that seemed too old for modern hands. No name. No number. Just a place.
He read it once. Twice. The letters began to bleed as the rain touched them, yet they didn't fade.
When he finally stood, the air around him felt different... lighter, but wrong, as if the city itself was holding its breath.
He tucked the card into his pocket, picked up his suitcase, and started walking. Each step splashed softly through puddles that caught pieces of light and broke them apart.
Behind him, the streetlight flickered out.
Ren didn't look back.
But somewhere in the reflection of a shop window, a shadow did... rising, stretching, following the shape of his body perfectly before slipping once more into the dark.
END OF THE CHAPTER.