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(When it rains it pours)
Funny, you think.
Shigeo tucks his legs underneath him. You shiver, digging your nails into the jacket thrown over your shoulders. Hesitation briefly crosses his usual blank features. In the next instant he gets past it, reaching out to drag the thin material closer around your form--the way your trembling fingers can’t.
Your eyes meet.
Lightning streaks a crisp path through ink black clouds above, thunder nipping at its heels. Shigeo breaks your gaze and tilts his head back to study the sky with an innocent wonder. Another gust of wind makes you slowly curl into yourself and bury the cold tip of your nose inside the jacket, stare never once leaving him.
The unspoken question hangs in the air, heavy and settling.
“I’m…” Shigeo blinks down at you.
You wait.
“I’m not sure what to do,” he admits finally. The phone nestled in his pocket rings for the third time.
“Well, to start with,” you suggest, “you should probably get that.”
Shigeo makes a quiet noise of agreement. He doesn’t move.
“You are currently in more pressing need.”
The metal grating over your head quivers in accord with his words. It emits a high pitched shriek as it unnaturally bends further, twisting and angling to protect your figure from the pouring rain.
Shigeo’s hands twitch imperceptibly in his lap, lips tugging down as if he wants to frown before the expression fades back to stoic. He is clearly in distress, even more so than when he had found you half an hour earlier, alone and crying and broken in the storm. Than when he had ripped apart the side of an abandoned outpost to cover you, the action brutal in its force yet somehow undoubtedly gentle.
“He might be in trouble,” you try again.
His answer is immediate, laced with raw certainty. “Master can take care of himself."
You sigh.
“Maybe so,” you press the frigid pads of your fingers to your mouth. Somewhere deep down, you can’t help but be mesmerized by his utter trust. “But you should still be there for him. It’s not like I can go anywhere while you’re gone.” You blink owlishly. “I think they sprained my ankle.”
Shigeo’s fingers tense. The makeshift contraption hovering above the two of you flutters at the movement.
He scratches at his cheek.
“I don’t believe in hurting others.” The change of topic is abrupt, but you don’t blink an eye. “Having different abilities doesn’t justify in doing so.”
“Hmm?” You hum.
“Mmhm.” He glances at the dirt on your uniform, and something strained and awkward gets lost in his throat. “But somehow, right now, I really want to.” He sounds appalled by his own confession, tender shame blooming in his dark eyes.
You can’t contain the laugh that escapes. He recoils in embarrassment.
“Sorry,” you quietly try to trap it underneath your tongue. “Bullies will be bullies, but it’s nice to see you care.”
“Of course,” Shigeo says. He’s blushing. Why?
Ah. You’re closer to him now. You don’t remember moving.
“If it rings again, promise me you’ll go?” You know all too well what his job entails. “Someone might need you more than me.”
Not likely, a voice whispers in the back of your skull.
Shigeo nods curtly. He’s closer now too. You can count every trapped water droplet in his eyelashes.
34%
His scent washes over your senses: earthy from the downpour on his skin. Along with it there’s something you can’t identify, an electric ozone that soaks the air around him, raises your hair on end and burns clean cold down the back of your throat. Power.
“Promise me.”
Closer and closer.
“I promise.”
You close your eyes. His hand brushes yours.
“Good.”
When he kisses you, you only smile.
Maybe he misses completely the first time, mouth pressing closer to your chin than your lips, but that’s okay. And maybe he’s shaking a little, but are you really any better?
No, you muse as a rush goes straight through you, tingling to the tips of your toes and leaving your head light. No you most certainly are not.
His second attempt actually lands target, heat radiating from his cheeks onto your own. The contact is light, inexperienced, but his lips are like glacé, the kind of savoury that reminds you of sweetened milk. By the third, you’re gently threading your fingers with his in the grass.
67%
In the end it could have only lasted a few fumbling seconds before he’s pulling back, wide eyed and rosy like you’ve reached into his chest and burned him to his core. You’re trembling and warm, but he’s gasping and perhaps you’d underestimated how intense his caged emotions truly could become.
“Time to go,” you murmur against his skin. He stutters uncontrollably, eyes round and glazed. Rain pelts you once more as his control shatters, the metal above you snapping violently in two.
The phone rings.
“Duty calls.”