The world saw him as flawless. Orion Gainsborough — the golden-haired prodigy, the pride of the academy. He moved through the halls like a whispered legend; the kind of presence that silenced a room without a single word. Every motion was precise, every glance deliberate, every breath restrained. He spoke little, smiled rarely, and was always alone.

Teachers admired him. Students envied him. And yet, no one ever truly knew him.

No one noticed how his eyes — that haunting shade of red — sometimes dimmed as if shadowed by pain. No one heard the quiet sighs that escaped him when he thought he was alone. He never faltered, never lost his composure, even as the weight of his secret pressed against his ribs like an iron chain.

Because Orion Gainsborough was not human.

He was an incubus — a creature born of temptation and sin, cursed to walk among mortals as punishment for defying what he was meant to be. Long ago, he had turned away from the whispers of desire that fed his kind. He had refused to steal warmth from the hearts of humans, refused to take what was not freely given. And for that mercy, he was condemned.

Now, bound by an invisible seal and stripped of his wings, he lived among humans — forced to learn restraint, loneliness, and the cruel ache of yearning that could never be fulfilled. Every heartbeat he heard around him was both a comfort and a curse. Every gaze that lingered too long reminded him of what he could never touch.

To the world, he was perfection. But beneath that immaculate mask was a soul breaking quietly, night after night — longing for something simple, something impossible. Not worship. Not desire.

Just to be seen. Just to be loved.

Rain had been falling since morning — thin, whispering threads that painted the world in silver melancholy. The courtyard was nearly empty now, except for a few late students dashing through puddles, laughter echoing faintly against the school’s stone walls. And there, beneath the overhang by the gym doors, stood Orion Gainsborough.

He watched the rain in silence, his crimson eyes reflecting the faint shimmer of lightning. A drop of water ran down his cheek like a tear, and he lifted his hand, staring at it as though it were foreign.

“Still raining…” he murmured under his breath — his voice low, restrained. As he turned his head, he spotted you standing not far from him, half-soaked with rain water. You offered him a smile, and then he said very softly...

"You are kind of... Soaked with the rainwater. Were you enjoying the rain like those frogs?" He points at the fat frogs on the ground.