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Barok van Zieks, what did they say again about the dragons and the sea?
It is raining once more. London is muddy, like always. I raise my face and look at the gray facades of the buildings around me. I am terribly alone.
Barok, I wonder if I can find you in the gentle unfolding of the gray chimney smoke up into the sky.
There is a lone pigeon on the sidewalk before me, shaking off the rainwater from its damp wings.
It looks at me, and I think of love, both the unrequited and the requited kind.
You are grueling, but very rewarding, Ryuunosuke Naruhodou once confessed to me, after one time when we found ourselves hiding within each other, against each other.
Everytime we finish making love, I have to always reflect on the fact that, like this, we were imperfect puzzle pieces. But he fits together with me, however bad the fit was.
There are times when, tired of remembering all of my past failures, I like counting my small wins, too.
The rain is light, but it will become heavy soon. I come out of the office, open my umbrella. I walk down the street.
I see him, and he sees me.
He smiles. “Barok,” he calls me.
I smile back. “Ryuunosuke,” I call him.
The rain falls, and I walk over him in short quick steps and let him take my arm.
I like to think that to the casual passerby, we looked like friends.
I like to think that to those who were in the know, we looked like lovers.
When did we start to be something more than what we used to be?
Barok van Zieks is too pragmatic a man to let the word “soulmates” slip out of his mouth, and yet too romantic a man to not think it privately to himself during quiet moments like these.
Rains are a dragon’s domain.
Fleetingly, I remember the tale about the dragon who sacrificed his life to cause rain to fall for his beloved human; I wonder if I, too, can make such a sacrifice, if it meant Barok will eat. And live. And live.
I wonder if the dragon who caused the rain to fall today had to sacrifice his life to do it, too, and if he was ever able to convey his love.
“It's cold,” I say, instead of the ten thousand other things I wanted to say.
“Stay close to me,” he says, instead of the ten thousand other things he probably wanted to say.
We huddle together like kids, and continue walking down the street.
When I look up, he is staring ahead, his blue eyes the color of the sea.
Darling.
“Hm?” he murmurs.
Ah, I may have spoken out loud.
“Darling… I…”
He looks at me, amused, and I bite my lip to keep from smiling.
“You’re doing that again,” he remarks.
“What?”
“That thing you do where you try to prevent yourself from looking too happy,” Ryuunosuke says.
“Do I?”
“Yes, you do.” He huffs a little. “It’s as if you’re afraid of happiness.”
Afraid of happiness…?
Ryuunosuke looks straight ahead, guides me around a puddle unnecessarily, considering that my boots were already splashed with mud up to the knee. “Are you the type of person who thinks that if they become too happy they’d soon find themselves with misfortune?” he chuckles.
I shrug. “I’m not too sure.” I glance away, and sigh. “I didn’t even notice I was doing that until you pointed it out.”
“Well?” he demands. Persistently. “Are you happy, though?”
That one is easy enough to answer.
“Yes,” I solemnly say. “I am.”
I am very happy. I am in love with him.
Ryuunosuke’s eyes disappear when he smiles at my answer.
No… more than love, I adore him.
The rain patters pleasantly against Barok’s umbrella. It is my favorite sound in the world, the sound of rain.
Barok’s shoulder is warm and perfect. I try not to be disappointed when we finally reach Baker Street, but it is there. The sky is gray, and I feel the gray permeate into my skin, flesh, to my very bones.
We can only walk like this, be like this, when it is raining. We can only love one another when it is raining. For now.
“For now,” he says, echoing my thoughts, “I’ll take you home.”
“For now," I echo back, and he ducks his head and smiles at me. His expression is only ever like that when watching me. As if the sight of me pleases him more than anything else in the world. Actions speak louder than words. I like to think that I heard his loud and clear.
Ah. It is hard to resist the urge to stand on tiptoes and kiss his pale cheek. And Barok is very warm, and it is also difficult to unstick myself from his side when we finally arrive on the muddy doorstep of the great detective's lodgings.
We can only love one another when it is raining.
I smile up at him, and he gazes back, blue eyes filled with the promise of summery skies. Perhaps, someday, when the heavens are that color and we are alone together, perhaps, on that day, maybe tomorrow, or the day after that, or the next, we can finally love each other without needing the clouds to weep for us.
I grab the hand that held his umbrella and pull it to me, along with the entirety of Barok van Zieks with it, and I press my mouth against his in a gentle, blink-and-you-miss-it kiss. The umbrella dips perfectly, and it shields us from view.
I let him go.
For now.
He stares at me as if he did not quite understand what happened until he finally did, and the sudden rose blush across his cheeks is beautiful.
I love you, I want to say, but the rain is about to end.
I love you too, he wants to say, and the umbrella in his hand threatens to droop once more.