The silver rain did not last long. By the time Haruto crouched down, palm open in quiet invitation, the droplets had already begun to fade into the night. Only the faint shimmer that clung to Tsuki’s fur remained, as if the rain had chosen her alone.

Tsuki’s paws trembled against the stone path. She couldn’t move—half from fear, half from the strange pull of his voice.

Haruto stayed still, waiting, the lantern light brushing against the calm lines of his face.

“…You’re really shaking,” he murmured again.

The sound was warm, low. Not coaxing exactly—more like an unspoken promise: I won’t force you. I’ll just be here until you’re ready.

Tsuki’s heart thudded wildly in her chest. She had no idea how long this form would last. If her parents saw her like this—or Miyako, or her siblings—what would she say? What could she say?

Her tail curled tight against her side. She needed to move. She needed to hide.

But when Haruto slowly reached into his blazer pocket and pulled out something wrapped in paper, her body betrayed her.

“…Here.” He unwrapped the corner and held it out. A small red bean bun, still warm from the bakery down the street. “I was going to eat it later, but… you probably need it more.”

The scent wafted toward her—sweet, soft, comforting. Her new senses burned with hunger she hadn’t realized she had.

Without meaning to, Tsuki crept one step closer. Then another.

Her paws touched his knee. She froze.

Haruto didn’t move, didn’t flinch. He just let the night breathe between them until finally, Tsuki’s small mouth tugged at the edge of the bun.

A faint smile touched his lips, soft and fleeting. “There you go.”

The cicadas sang again, louder this time, as if the spell had broken.

Haruto didn’t leave her there.

Instead, when Tsuki finished nibbling, he stood and brushed off his hands, glancing toward the riverbank. “It’s late. You shouldn’t be wandering around here.”

Her ears twitched. Was he… talking to her?

“You can come if you want.” His voice was quieter now, almost an afterthought.

Before Tsuki could think, her paws carried her after him.

The river shimmered in the moonlight, carrying the reflection of lanterns strung across the bridge. Haruto walked slowly, blazer slung over his shoulder, steps steady as though he’d walked this path a hundred times.

Tsuki followed a few steps behind, every sound magnified: the crunch of gravel beneath his shoes, the rush of water over stones, the faint rattle of cicadas hidden in the reeds.

After a while, he stopped near a willow tree that leaned over the water. He crouched again, resting his arms on his knees.

“…You know,” he said softly, eyes fixed on the current, “my sister would love you.”

Tsuki blinked.

“She’s eight. Loves cats. Keeps asking for one, but…” His shoulders shifted, a faint sigh. “Our apartment’s small. Mom says we can’t.”

He tilted his head, just enough for the moonlight to catch his eyes. “But if you showed up at our door, I don’t think she’d complain.”

Tsuki’s chest tightened. He was imagining bringing her home.

And part of her wanted to go. To see the world he lived in—the café he always worked at after school, the little sister who adored cats, the room where he probably studied until late at night.

But another part of her screamed with panic. She wasn’t a cat. She was Tsuki. A girl from his class.

Would he ever believe her if he knew?

Her paws dug into the earth. She wanted to tell him, to explain everything—but all that escaped was a soft, helpless mew.

Haruto chuckled faintly. “You sound lonely.”

He reached out, brushing his fingers gently behind her ear. Tsuki stiffened, but the warmth of his touch melted through her panic. It was careful, respectful, as though he’d guessed she’d run if he pressed too much.

“…It’s strange,” Haruto murmured. “I don’t usually talk this much.” His smile was faint, almost self-mocking. “But with you… it doesn’t feel weird.”

Tsuki’s heartbeat drummed so loud she thought he might hear it.

The silver-furred cat pressed her head against his hand. Just for a moment.

Haruto exhaled softly, almost like a laugh. “Yeah. You’d fit right in.”

The night deepened. Haruto stood, brushing off his knees. “Come on. I’ll walk you back toward town. Stray or not, it’s not safe alone.”

Tsuki padded after him, her emotions in chaos. Fear. Wonder. A warmth she couldn’t untangle.

When they reached the corner where the streets diverged—one toward his apartment, one toward the shrine—Haruto slowed.

“You’ll find your way, right?” He crouched once more, meeting her eyes directly.

Tsuki froze under his gaze. Did he… suspect something?

But all he did was smile faintly. “Guess I’ll see you around, then. Stay safe, little one.”

With that, he rose and walked away, steps steady, blazer slipping against the evening breeze.

Tsuki stood there long after his figure disappeared.

The silver rain was gone. The world was ordinary again.

But nothing felt ordinary anymore.