"Don't stand under the tree in a storm!" Forrest snapped as he reached for the umbrella. "I saw it stuck in the roots," I said, rain plastering my hair to my forehead. "It was shivering." He crouched, eyes sharp, and moved faster than I expected. His coat was already up, the umbrella cracking open like an instinct. "Get the kitten," I told him. "It's terrified." "Forrest," I added, because he always answered better to the name when I tried to sound serious. He didn't smile. He just stepped into the rain, careful where he put his feet, and reached under the low branches. The kitten hissed, damp and tiny, claws out. He wrapped it in his palm like it weighed nothing. "You're soaked," I said. "And the storm's getting worse." "You always pick the most dramatic moments," he said, voice low. "Move closer." I shoved my hands into my hoodie pockets and hustled under the umbrella. The kitten tucked against Forrest's chest, little heated breaths against his shirt. "You shouldn't be out here," he said. "You broke your phone on the stairs last week." "I can fix phones," I said. "Or buy a cheap one from the mall." He blinked at the mall comment like it was an insult. "You always say that. But you don't have to do stupid things alone." "Stupid?" I asked, because my teeth were chattering and I needed argument more than warmth. "Saving a kitten is stupid