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Flipping a page of his book carefully, Kazuha looked to his side. The faint sound of muffled music came from the headphones Scaramouche wore. His hand effortlessly sketched something in his sketchbook. Kazuha didn’t dare look, for he knew the older boy would get embarrassed and not allow him even a peek. Though, he smiled at the sight. He enjoyed the silence accompanied by a quiet version of his boyfriend, a version of him that was rarely witnessed.
But as thunder cracked and rain began to pour, Kazuha’s attention diverted. The book he held was delicately closed and placed on the nightstand to his right. The rain had always intrigued Kazuha; as a child it would tuck him into his sleep, calm him from his worries. Even as an adult, it brought him great jollity. That must’ve been the reason his feet took the role of his brain and brought him to the front door at the immediate sound of the summer storm. With music hindering his sense of hearing, Scaramouche hadn’t been aware of Kazuha’s absence until he noticed the weight that had lifted from the mattress and the emptiness in the corner of his eye. He scrunched his eyebrows in confusion before unhesitantly running towards the noise of a closing door.
Kazuha stood, arms stretching out like wings. Droplets of the warm rain kissed his cheeks, his eyelids, his tongue. He smiled so widely. Scaramouche knew he loved the rain – the sound, the smell, the vibe a rainy day produced – though he never expected to see him so engulfed in feeling the rain. The corners of his lips threatened to upturn as he watched the boy before him drown in such unexpected enjoyment.
Moments later, Kazuha turned, staring back at the entrance of their home, staring into Scaramouche’s captivated expression. The gloomy atmosphere around them contrasted perfectly with the bright, blue hue of Scaramouche’s eyes. He had never seemed so colorful . A once in a lifetime sight; his lips parted, baring a toothy smile that was rarely ever seen by anyone except himself. And Kazuha’s smile grew even wider than it had been before. With a flick of his wrist, he motioned for the older boy to join him. Although he raised his brows and shook his head in disapproval, the smile never left his mouth. An unmistakable laugh fell from his lips, though Kazuha wasn’t sure if he had imagined such a pleasant sound.
“Oh, come on!” Kazuha yelled through the pitter-patter of the rain, hardly managing to stifle the giggle rising in his throat.
Scaramouche didn't like the rain. He never did. It had always reminded him of the times back when he was young and naive, cooped up in the small sheltered huts that the orphaned, inexperienced boy could find. He remembers being drenched and cold. Weak and hungry. Alone.
But something was different now. All he saw was the sun, personified, in the midst of a beautiful summer rainstorm. He shined so brightly, so blindingly, Scaramouche almost had to close his eyes. And the strings pulling on his lips wouldn’t let go. Kazuha spun around once, maybe twice, before senselessly wiping the water from his face. He stepped through the soaked grass and promptly grabbed Scaramouche’s hands in his own. Expecting resistance, his eyes widened when Scaramouche gave in.
“I thought you hated the rain?” Kazuha whispered, halting before pulling him out into the storm. Scaramouche shook his head at the question, not particularly in denial, but in generous amusement. The question was so simple, yet it felt so meaningful. He hated the rain. He hated the warm droplets that unnecessarily drenched him. He hated the emptiness the gray, cloudy days created. But Kazuha loved the rain. He loved the way it showered him, cleansed him. He loved the world after a storm; the fresh smell, the evaporating puddles, the nourished earth.
And it was so difficult for him to reject Kazuha.
Without a sun, everything would wither away.
“I do. But I don’t hate you.” Scaramouche replied, straight-faced. A blush scattered upon Kazuha’s cheeks before he laughed into his hand. Shaking off the fluster, he led the boy into the rain, watching the indigo strands of hair begin to dampen and cling to his cheeks. A droplet slides down his forehead, down the bridge of his nose. Those bright eyes shine as he stares into Kazuha’s soft, red irises, as if afraid to look away. The younger boy took the other’s free hand, placing it carefully onto his own waist, while moving their opposite, intertwined hands into the air. The world was their ballroom to dance upon. Kazuha hummed a song Scaramouche was unfamiliar with, enjoying the gentle melody regardless. Surprised by his own action, he twirled his enthusiastic boyfriend. Catching him by the waist, he pulled him in close.
Eventually, the two ended up on the wet driveway, lying side by side gazing up at the stormy sky. Their fingers made soft, circular motions on each other’s damp skin.
“Do you ever wonder-” Scaramouche began, hesitantly. “Is the sky crying when it rains?” Such a pure question from him. Childish, but beautiful. He rarely voiced jejune phrases, fearing to sound ignorant. But his vulnerability had no bounds around Kazuha. With time, he had grown a rather large comfortability around him. A freedom he had never felt before with another.
“Perhaps it is.” Kazuha played along. “Crying to the Earth in recognition of its undying love for it.” Scaramouche couldn't contain his chuckle at the response. A vulnerable question answered by a poet at heart.
“Its undying love, huh?” The dark haired boy pondered the expression.
“The sky cries to the Earth, feeding it, providing for it, caring for it. The Earth wouldn't be much without the sky, though it didn’t notice until receiving its first shower; its shower of love, shower of care. They silently depend on each other. The Earth cannot grow without the beaming sun and the salubrious rain.” Kazuha rambled on, smiling at his metaphors, knowing that Scaramouche may not catch on.
Ever since meeting Scaramouche, he’d always felt a strange calmness. He felt at peace. An odd comfort that he hadn’t experienced until then. The more he learned about the boy, the more they grew, the more Kazuha felt whole. It was as if a long lost piece of himself had finally connected with the rest of the puzzle. His contrasting personality, his agreeable values, his careless view of the world. Scaramouche was the irreplaceable, missing puzzle piece.
His words spilled from his lips, confessing his feelings about their relationship. But naturally, he avowed it like an allegory. And perhaps Scaramouche would never see the comparison. He was the Earth; a mysterious discovery, a planet of both destruction and beauty. Kazuha was the sky, the sun.
With a swift motion, Scaramouche leaned above Kazuha and took his jaw in his cupped hand, bringing his attention towards himself.
“Sometimes you really do talk too much, you know.” However, the frequent rambling from his boyfriend didn't bother him at all. In fact, it only brought him to fall in love even further.
Hovering close to his face, he examined his features. The long eyelashes batting slowly as he alternated his stare between his eyes and his lips. His moderately parted mouth releasing short, excited breaths between the fidgety lip biting. Kazuha leaned upwards, just enough for their noses to brush past each other.
“You’re beautiful.” He whispered, chest heaving in anticipation. The smile Kazuha adored wholeheartedly returned to Scaramouche’s face before he gently pressed his lips against the other’s. The kiss is soft, slow. The hand under Kazuha’s chin moved down, stopping right above his collarbone, rubbing tenderly on either side of his neck. They kiss again and again, laughing against each other’s lips between each one.
For Scaramouche, a moment like the one before them felt too good to be true. Despite the fact that the thought would never be allowed outside of his mind, he hadn't ever expected to experience love. He had come across so many caring, devoted people with such doting hearts in his time exploring the world. But not one had ever been reserved for him. That is until he met Kazuha. The boy loved him an incomprehensible amount and treated him in such an incomprehensible way. Adoration like Kazuha’s was something he didn’t expect to be felt towards someone like himself. Thus, he cherished moments like this more than Kazuha would ever know.
Scaramouche kissed him a few more times, briefly, before pulling away. Wrapping his arms beneath Kazuha’s legs and shoulders, he lifted him in a bridal position. Kazuha held onto his neck.
The warmth of a clean, dry towel hit Kazuha’s face unexpectedly as he stood in their room, waiting for the dark haired boy to emerge from the washroom. Once the towel was no longer hanging upon his head, he watched as Scaramouche walked towards him, wringing his hair out with a towel of his own, his shirt absent from his body. Kazuha’s eyes mindlessly wandered from his flexed arms to chest. Scaramouche stopped right in front of him with raised eyebrows and a sly smile stretching across his face. A “tsk,” followed by an overconfident laugh sounded from him.
“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”
A feverish blush rose to Kazuha’s cheeks. Regrettably pulling his eyes up to Scaramouche’s face, hands reached for his jaw, his cheeks. Familiar lips quickly touched his own. Before he could fully comprehend what had just happened, Scaramouche brushed a hand through his hair, as if trying to dry it, and pecked the corner of Kazuha’s mouth once again, preceding his exit from the room. Dazed from the sudden affectionate action, he placed two fingers on the spot that he’d just been kissed, smiling at the memory of the feeling.