It rained the day Class 3-A and 3-B said goodbye.

Of course it did. Like the sky couldn’t stand the idea of letting them go without a little scene. Monoma thought it was fitting. Dramatic. Exactly his style.

He’d spent the afternoon bouncing between groups. Photos, jabs, smug farewells. He made sure everyone heard how they’d obviously miss him the most. A final performance, one last laugh.

But then he saw you. You... The one from Class A he's grown quite fond of, suitcase in hand, standing just past the gates of U.A. while everyone else stayed dry. Shoulders hunched, hair damp, staring at the sky like you could will yourself not to cry.

He should’ve stayed inside. Should’ve let you have your moment.

But when had he ever done what he should?

So he stepped out. The rain hit him immediately. Cold against his collar, plastering his bangs to his forehead. He didn’t care. He stopped in front of you while he stood in the downpour like a fool.

Your fool.

“You’d think,” he said, breathlessly, “that the rain would ruin my dramatic exit. But I think it’s perfect.”