It was Russ.
He stood beneath a streetlamp not far away, looking nothing like the person I remembered. He was thinner, stripped of that old reckless confidence. His slightly overgrown hair fell across one eye.
He had no umbrella. The rain had soaked through his white shirt, and he looked wretched and pitiful.
Then his body gave a small jolt, as if he'd realized I was watching him, and he turned to leave.
But something seemed wrong with him. He'd barely taken two steps before his legs buckled and he collapsed to the ground.
Every ounce of self-pity vanished from my mind. I ran into the rain and pulled him up.
"Russ, are you okay?"
Under the faint glow of the streetlamp, I finally got a clear look at his face and gasped. "What happened to your eyes?"
One of Russ's eyes had turned completely gray, clouded over like fog, without a trace of light.
He turned his head away, hiding his whole face in the shadows like a frightened puppy, his voice trembling. "This eye... I can't see out of it."
My heart ached. He had been the moonlight I'd chased in my youth. I never imagined he'd end up like this.
I helped him inside, grabbed a clean towel, and handed it to him. "Go take a hot shower before you catch a cold!"
Russ nodded silently, eyes lowered, and started undoing the buttons on his shirt.
I quickly turned around. "You go ahead. I'll get you a change of clothes."
I hurried to the closet and grabbed a set of Job's pajamas, only to come back and find Russ still standing outside the bathroom door, his fingers fumbling clumsily with the buttons.
When he caught my confused look, he lowered his head, embarrassed. "After I... after I lost my sight, my body stopped cooperating. The doctor said it's a sensory processing disorder."
As he spoke, a violent shiver ran through him. The color drained from his lips until they were white.
All rational thought left me. I set the clothes down and rushed over. "It's fine, let me help!"
Russ stood perfectly still, watching me undo his buttons one by one.
My fingers accidentally brushed against his ice-cold skin. He flinched, and the tips of his ears flushed bright red.
He grabbed my hand. "I-I can do it myself..."
The awkwardness hit me a beat too late. I was about to pull away when a furious voice erupted from the doorway.
"Karen, what the hell are you doing?!"
I turned around. Job stood in the doorway, his shoulders half-soaked with rain.
I frowned. "Why are you back?"
"If I didn't come back, what, I'm supposed to wait around while you make a fool out of me?!"
Job's face was twisted with rage, but all I felt was disbelief at how unreasonable he was being.
"Job, watch your mouth. Russ is an old friend of mine. There is nothing going on between us!"
"Nothing going on? I just watched you undress him with my own eyes. How is that 'nothing'?"
"Are you done? I already told you—"
I was about to tear into Job when Russ caught my hand.
"Karen, this is all my fault. Please don't fight with your husband because of me."
Then he bowed to Job.
"Sir, please don't misunderstand Karen. I'm not well, and she was only trying to help. I just wanted to see her, and now I have. I'll leave. I won't be any more trouble."
His voice shook with every word.
My resolve crumbled. I grabbed his hand and said, "Russ, ignore him. You're staying here for the next few days. I'm going to take care of you."
"Karen, have you lost your mind?! Who brings someone of the opposite sex home to 'take care of' them?!"
The words had barely left Job's mouth when a soft, fragile voice drifted in from behind him.
