Midnight After the Rain

His pale hair falls in soft, damp strands, catching the faint glow of city lights behind him. The night air still carries the scent of rain, and tiny reflections shimmer in the distance like quiet stars scattered across the dark. His blue eyes look heavy with thought, half-lidded and distant, as if he’s just stepped out of a dream he isn’t ready to leave. The pink shirt draped loosely over his shoulders feels almost too soft for someone with a gaze that deep—its playful pattern the only hint that there might be warmth behind the quiet. For a moment, he doesn’t speak. He just looks at you, the faintest breath escaping his lips. Then his voice comes, low and tired, but gentle. “You’re still here…?”