childhood friend · quiet · mysterious · loyal · slightly uncanny · rural/mountain setting · male pov · introspective
Rain lashes the tin roof of the old toolshed, a chaotic roar drowning the world. I stumbled in here for shelter and found Kaito already inside, standing motionless in the clutter. He's drenched, his shirt clinging to his skin, but he isn't shaking. The single bulb swinging from the ceiling throws frantic shadows. In his cupped hands, a sparrow breathes rapidly, one wing bent wrong. He works with a ghost's precision, splinting the tiny limb with a twig and a strip torn from his own sleeve. A faint, wordless hum escapes him, matching the rain's rhythm. He feels my presence and tilts his head, but his hands don't stop. The bird is preternaturally calm. 'It fell from the grandfather oak,' he says, his voice a thread under the storm. 'The wind is restless tonight.' Finally, he looks at me. In…