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There’s still a few hours to dinner when Hajime steps through the genkan, thoroughly soaked to the bone. He makes quick work of his jacket. Tosses his umbrella behind the door and drops his book bag before running a tired hand through his hair.
Tooru’s shoes are strewn haphazardly by the step, one placed slightly on top of the other as if he was in an absolute rush to get them off, and Hajime sighs before he straightens them against the wall and steps further into their apartment.
He can smell the familiar aroma of his mother’s rice porridge, wisps of salty chicken stock rising from the donabe and drifting through their tiny one-bedroom, causing a familiar thrum of nostalgia to rise in Hajime’s heart. He smiles softly to himself as he makes his way across the tatami flooring, calling out his boyfriend’s name, the other nowhere to be found.
There is a gas burner set out on their dining table, the faded pink donabe Tooru insisted they buy when they first moved to the city sat atop it. It’s stuffed to the brim, if the way the lid is barely hanging on is anything to go off of. Hajime scoffs as he straightens the lid, lines up the top of the painted-on rabbit’s face to its body on the bowl.
He turns to call out to his boyfriend once again, but the only response he gets is the sound of the pounding rain, ricocheting violently hard off the window panes, their balcony, the roof.
Hajime furrows his brows. Forces down the hunger that roared to life the minute he smelled his mother’s recipe and does a three-sixty, scouting all corners of the living room, in case Tooru’s playing an impromptu game of hide-and-seek. Despite his age, it wouldn’t be the first time he decided to pop out and surprise Hajime with sloppy kisses and a tight hug, but a good survey of the apartment reveals zero fluffy-haired, doe-eyed pretty boys in sight.
Their door, however — Hajime definitely made sure to close it before he left earlier in the morning and he quickly starts towards it, heart pounding in his throat in anticipation for all the possibilities.
He’s severely disappointed when he steps inside and isn’t greeted by the sight of a semi-dressed Tooru lying across their bed, though, the disappointment quickly morphs to horror when he realizes that their window is open as well.
Long streaks of rain are blowing in through the opening and Hajime quickly crosses the room to force it shut, slipping on a few puddles in his haste. However, when he finally draws close, he feels a headache start to form behind his eyes.
“Iwa-chan,” Tooru greets from where he’s perched on the stone railing just a few inches away from their window, arms wrapped around his knees like this is something normal.
Iwa stares at his boyfriend, flabbergasted. “What in God’s name are you doing?”
“Enjoying the rain.”
“Like our landlord’s going to enjoy fining us for the floors?”
Tooru rolls his eyes at his boyfriend as if Hajime is the ridiculous one for wanting their deposit back and turns to face the storm once again, sopping wet hair still managing to fly in the unrelenting wind. Hajime continues to gape at the other for a second. At Tooru’s sheer uncaring behavior before he steps closer and grabs the window pane. Starts to tug it closed.
Tooru simply leans forward, allows Hajime to shut it almost halfway before raising a brow when Hajime stops. “What?”
“Aren’t you going to come in?” He was stupidly operating under the impression that Tooru would get the memo from his actions. Obviously, he was wrong.
“No.”
Hajime pinches his nose. Breathes in heavily before saying exasperatedly, “You’re going to get sick.”
“And?” He turns to look at Hajime, a mischievous smile playing on his lips. “A three-day long cold. That’s the most that can happen — worst case scenario.”
He slides over to his right, shoves the window back open with his movement, and pats the spot beside himself. “Come, sit with me.”
“You have lost your mind,” Hajime replies, though he knows he’s already fighting a losing battle as he begins to survey the sill, trying to figure out the best way to fit himself through it.
Tooru’s lips turn up knowingly and he doesn’t respond. Instead, he turns back to the wind. Closes his eyes and makes an excited shriek when a crack of lightening streaks through the sky. The loud rumble of thunder follows soon after and Hajime groans as he manages to shove himself head first out onto their poor excuse of a makeshift balcony.
There’s a few seconds of uncertainty as he dangles precariously over the edge of their twenty-third floor apartment, but then Tooru’s tender hands are wrapping around his shoulders, holding Hajime steady and safe as he uprights himself and settles himself against his boyfriend.
Another crack of lightening flits between a few menacing clouds, its thunder even more resounding and Tooru sighs happily before leaning back against the brick exterior of their apartment.
Hajime stares at him for a few seconds, bare feet dangling out over the edge of the terrace, scraping against the metal roof of their neighbors awning. The rain has only picked up and it feels like bullets coming down against his skin. Still, however, the water is warm and the air smells nice, and he can’t force himself to stay annoyed when Tooru reaches over and curls a soft hand around his own.
“What—” Hajime starts, only to roll his eyes when Tooru shushes him.
“I’m basking,” Tooru says, smile growing as Hajime lays their palms flat against one another and threads their fingers together.
Hajime scoffs. “Basking.”
“Yeah, it’s what you do when you’re relaxing,” Tooru replies. He tightens his hand against Hajime’s. Slots their fingers closer together, so much so that veins on the back of Hajime’s hand start to rise. “Not that you would know anything about that.”
“I don’t need to take this from the least relaxed person I’ve ever met in my life,” Hajime retorts, though he shuffles closer so that their thighs are pressed together as well. The drenched material of his jeans feels disgusting against his skin, but he can’t bring himself to mind when Tooru one-ups him by throwing a bare leg over his knee, shorts riding up on his soft pale thighs, the place where they’re touching raging like a flame brought to life.
“I’m relaxing now.”
“Did the gym get a restraining order on you?”
Tooru wrinkles his nose and turns to Hajime with a glare. Hajime simply stares back, brows raised, and after a few minutes his boyfriend looks away before mumbling, “They’re closed for renovations.”
“Louder for the class, please.”
“Oh, shut up,” Tooru shoots back, though he’s grinning wide. “I can be fun.”
The wind picks up just as he says it, the howl and whistle of the storm carrying through the narrow alleyway that they’re staring out into. As far as rooms with a view go, they’re definitely on the lower end of the spectrum. They’ve got front row seats to the large communal dumpster which was, thankfully, emptied just before the rain started. Hajime doubts the other would be out here, living out his strange young adult fantasy of basking in the rain if he could smell the leftover waste of the restaurant half a block down.
Despite the squalid living conditions, however, he has to admit that there is something homey about their quaint little apartment. Namely, that it is theirs.
The dumpling shop they tend to frequent past midnight has its door strewn open, the old granny who runs it just as uncaring about the dumpster smell and wet floors as Tooru seems to be.
She steps out onto her porch, hand shielding her eyes from the onslaught before she spots the pair and waves.
Tooru waves back just as furiously with his free hand, the other refusing to let go of Hajime’s and gets an excited bounce to his perch when she calls out, “Are you boys going to be dropping by tonight?”
“Yes!” Tooru shouts back over the cry of the wind. “I made porridge so Iwa-chan’s going to be hungry in about two hours.”
“Hey!”
The old lady just smiles knowingly before cupping both hands over her mouth in an attempt to fight the storm. “I’m trying out a new recipe. My grandson adores it — I’ll make sure to save you boys a plate as well!”
“You’re the best!” Tooru replies, emphasizing his adoration for the woman by blowing her an exaggerated kiss. She laughs quietly and steps back inside her store, greeting bells jingling as she pulls the door shut.
Hajime sighs fondly at the sight, gives a faint laugh when Tooru looks back at him
“What?” he asks, that same mischievous grin he first greeted Hajime with back on his face.
“You’re a menace,” Hajime says, reaching out to push a few damp strands of hair out of Tooru’s face. They stick to his palm as he rearranges them. Presses them back in a way that accentuates Tooru’s soft features, the bangs he’s always hiding under pulled away to reveal his beautiful face. The face no one can ever help but fall in love with.
Tooru nuzzles Hajime’s palm. Turns to kiss his wrist, free hand coming up to hold it in place as Hajime gently thumbs over his cheek. “You love me, though.”
And of course, Hajime can’t find any argument with that — wouldn’t dream of it. Instead, he leans in. Allows the rain to batter his neck, his back, his legs, the fall growing stronger and stronger, in tandem with the stuttered pound of his heart.
Tooru’s chapped lips are waiting for him, still. He lets his eyes flutter shut as Hajime chastely presses their mouths together. Pecks and pushes and then kisses him hard. Another crack of thunder reverberates through the sky and then another and another.
Thousands of tiny raindrops fall to the ground and when Hajime finally pulls away. Presses his forehead against Tooru’s and exhales hot clouds against his lips, he says, “I do.”