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For Sasara, the rain is terrible. It’s cold and infuriating. The thunder that accompanies along is bothersome. The rainfall exceeds the worst vibe. And inevitably, it ruins his entire mood for the day, along with others. Sasara thinks there’s no other day as bad as when it rains.
He sat on his couch inside his abode, thankful he didn’t go to the convenience store nearby to buy stuff. He frowned upon seeing the window. Raindrops—quick, sharp, painful—roll down the see-through divider. A sense of discomfort rushed through his veins as he bundled up as warmly as possible.
He hates the rain—he loathes it. So much more than a spilled cream soda and even more than himself.
Sasara found himself lying on his couch, the same frown still plastered on his face as the very same rain that caused it continued to pour. Initially, he had planned to meet up with Rosho today on a date (or something like that. Because Sasara wasn’t willing to admit it—yet. Nor does he think Rosho would take it nicely). They planned to let loose for the day, finally finding free time in their constantly packed schedules. Sasara had even picked some nice spots to visit, such as a newly opened pudding shop and a place that seemed promising with its strange-looking cream soda.
And now Sasara has no choice but to accept the downpour given to him as he idly lets time pass in his house. His shut-close eyelids opened, revealing his golden, melancholy-shrouded eyes as the television before his face flashed a recording of one of his appearances. He’s happy as a comedian. He’s enjoying the fame, the money, and the great success he brought himself.
But he’s alone now. He jokes alone on stage; he plans them alone beforehand. And for whatever reason, he really wishes he wasn’t.
Sasara’s body shot up when the doorbell to his place suddenly rang in the middle of his idle gazing. It rang a few more times before Sasara finally snapped back to reality and sprinted to open the door.
“W-who… Ro—” Sasara exhaled out of shock, his eyebrows furrowing as he held onto his door handle with his body lunged forward. “What are ya doing here…?”
Rosho took a step back. “I wanted to check up on you,” he admitted straightforwardly. “I bought you some snacks too. We can eat them together.”
“How sweet of ya!” Sasara’s lips perked up immediately as he got back to his feet. “Come in, come in! You’re drenched.”
He’s welcoming of this. It’s a better sight.
Rosho placed the white bag on the table. Sasara peered inside once he acquired a towel for Rosho, finding various goodies: chips, rice crackers, beer cans, and plenty of other sweet stuff. Of course, there was pudding too inside, and Sasara couldn’t help but smile at his choice of consumables. It was very Rosho-like, and Sasara liked it. He’s fond of how familiar it was.
Sasara handed the towel to Rosho (more like placing it directly on his head). He had offered to dry him up, but Rosho immediately declined, asking the man with the cat-like smile to “stop teasing” him.
“I’m not!” Sasara would retort as usual.
“That’s what you always say!” Rosho replied as he quickly dried his head. He groaned and sat beside Sasara, who was already comfortable in his seat.
"I was just offering! An act of kindness! Rosho!" Sasara wailed as he dropped himself onto Rosho's shoulder. “I’m such a kind friend, and you’re wasting your opportunity on my kindness?!”
Rosho pushed Sasara’s head back. “If you’re so kind as you say, then you should do it more often without having me take it as an opportunity,” he said simply and took the pudding out along with the small spoon that came with it.
The pudding’s scent was sweet. That’s what Sasara could smell as Rosho brought a spoonful closer to his mouth. It’s a pleasant smell, better than petrichor. Something about it puts him at ease. Maybe that’s because it's how Rosho smells to him.
Sasara leaned his back onto Rosho’s arm and rested his eyes, with a tired exhale following suit. The pouring rain looked like it was going to stick around a little longer, and for once, Sasara thanked it. That way, Rosho has to stay over, just a bit longer than usual. If he doesn't? He'll force him to stay. He'll drag in his students' names if needed.
He just wanted this to last a little longer—longer than the past. He wanted Rosho here, with him, inside of his house and warmed up from alcohol—together.
"Sasara," Rosho whispered. Het set his pudding on the floor. Sasara didn't reply.
Rosho waited. He didn't move; he just waited.
"What's it?" Sasara finally replied after what felt like a century. The consistent sound of the rain drowned his loud and bright voice, and he hated how it made him sound less cheerful. His voice would go croaky, too. It reminded him of a time.
"You can, uh," Rosho searched for a word, "latch onto my arm. I hope I'm wording that right— woah ?"
Sasara thought his body was probably on autopilot. He assumed so because Sasara didn't order his limbs to move and tightly latch onto Rosho's arm. Sasara didn't ask to press his face onto his arm either. He wasn't sure of anything; nothing at this point. And Rosho flinched at Sasara's instantaneous move.
Rosho reached for a bag of rice crackers. He munched on one, two, and then a third. It's yummy, and he pulled out a fourth. Then in front of Sasara's buried face was the fourth rice cracker. It hovered innocently, waiting for the comedian to wake up.
"C'mon," Rosho instructed, and Sasara took a small bite.
It's hard, and it makes a crunching sound. The sound filled his ears, reaching one end to the other because of how loud it was. Sasara took another bite, then another, and now he had two bite-sized crackers in his mouth being crunched. It was delicious, just as Rosho's expression said.
The loud noise, however, was what made Sasara enjoy the rice cracker. Each time he crunched them, he would let his mouth open just slightly so the noise would come out, but the insides won't spill out. It's not tumultuous or disorientated; it's a calming, natural sound that doesn't sound half bad.
He can't hear the rain. Not as clear as before, at least. It's progress.
With his head still on Rosho’s arm, he shifted to face the turned-off television. He could see the reflection of his somber expression, and along with it was Rosho’s relaxed face as he stuffed his mouth with the last remaining bits of pudding. He’s glad that Rosho looked like he was having fun, even on a rainy day; he was grateful Rosho didn’t end up like him.
If he’s being honest, he really hates himself right now. Sasara wondered what he could do on a gloomy day like today, but the only thing he could form in his mind was a warm hug from Rosho, which was probably way too much to ask.
“What’s on TV at this time?” Rosho had asked to break the silence, but Sasara didn’t reply with a weak shrug. He clutched Rosho’s arm tighter, practically nuzzling like a cat.
Rosho, naturally, gave the sad comedian a light pat. He sighed and turned his head towards the wet window, seeing some droplets leak inside the house. He had presumed that it wasn’t at a dangerous level, fortunately, but told Sasara that “you should patch that up.”
“Remind me again another time,” replied Sasara. “D’ya want a key to my apartment? We’ll be equals if you do.”
Rosho rolled his head with an annoyed smile. “I’ll just send you a message,” he suggested.
Equals. That’s what Sasara realized he had said: they’d be equals. He’s realizing this as if they weren’t already. But it’s funny how they’d be equals by exchanging apartment keys. Never in Sasara’s life had he realized it was so easy. He didn’t feel any sentimental value to that.
“The rain,” Rosho said, “doesn’t look like it’s going to stop anytime soon.”
Which was good, Sasara thought. And bad, because he loathes the rain. But it’s good that Rosho is staying over longer. He had thought of this twice in ten minutes, and he was confused over himself.
“Do ya want it to stop?” Sasara’s thoughts suddenly leaked out. Realizing that, he slapped his hand over his mouth. Rosho turned his head, looking at the comedian who faced the opposite direction of his audience.
Rosho went silent, and his fist clenched out of reflex. He inhaled, deep, before finally letting go.
“No,” he said, “not really. It’s nice.”
Rosho then reached for the bag of snacks, practically dragging the entire thing toward him. It didn’t look like Sasara would let go anytime soon, and it wasn’t uncomfortable or anything in the first place. Moreso, Rosho liked this side of Sasara as well. He took out a bag of gummy bears next and opened it swiftly.
He began to eat them one by one, starting with the reds and then the blues before continuing with the sole pink bear. Frankly, Rosho prefers eating something this sweet with a can of beer cracked open beside him, but it doesn’t look like it’ll end well if he drinks one now. Later, then.
“Sasara, you want some?” Rosho finally offered after what he could feel like three minutes of Sasara secretly staring at the packet. He purposefully left the green ones untouched because he knew Sasara liked them.
“Yeah,” Sasara nodded as he extended his hand, palm opened and ready to accept the four green bears. He placed each in his mouth, letting their flavor run through his tongue before he chewed and swallowed. They’re yummy—sour, but still yummy.
They were silent again—not even five minutes later—as the sound of the falling rain accompanied them. Sasara watched as each drop hit the trees and the ground, dripping for what he felt like a million years. He pitied them, those poor plants, and he tends to think he was delusional for doing so. But those things were in the rain, drenched, unable to shelter if no one helped. Even stray cats could find a roof to hide.
He was just a little bit like them.
At least, that's what he thinks of himself.
He could picture it well in his head: a mental image of what he'd do in the middle of a downpour. He'd shiver, first and foremost. He’d crouch and hug himself because he was so cold and alone. Sasara could see himself looking like the most pathetic guy on the streets with a lifetime supply of misery.
He doesn't like it. So he hates the rain.
"Rosho," Sasara called, picking himself up to sit correctly beside Rosho. "Ya still got a pack of bears?"
"I do," Rosho replied. He does have another pack. "You mentioned you liked these, so I bought a few."
Sasara smiled, one smile since the last half an hour and an irritating downpour in Osaka. The gummies were sweet.
"I like eating 'em while sipping cream soda," Sasara said. "We should go out someday, so ya can try it out."
Rosho leaned back. "Sure, why not. Sounds fun," and Rosho hoped his smile was enough to show Sasara his enthusiasm. Rosho stood up, and it was so sudden that Sasara froze on the spot.
He stared at Rosho, hand extended towards him like he was offering Sasara a helping hand. And he was dead silent; the rain was louder than him again. Every drop echoed in his ears.
Sasara took Rosho’s hand and stood up, but Rosho let go before Sasara could grasp it tightly. Like a statue, Sasara stood, watching as Rosho began to walk. He watched Rosho’s hand on the knob, how he twisted it, and how Rosho looked outside. Accompanied by a loud creaking sound, Sasara’s breath was shallow, and it hitched when Rosho stepped out.
By the time he had managed to drag himself out, Rosho was in the middle of the rain. The drops of water dampened his beautifully slicked back, messy hair, and his iconic vest stuck onto his body. His glasses were dirty, and Sasara could probably guess that he couldn’t see well with those.
Facing Sasara, who stood still under a roof, Rosho smiled, and Sasara felt his stomach churn in the worst way he could imagine it happening. A sickening, painful feeling. And he felt like his heart was sinking deep, drowning in the rain.
“You’re going to get sick if you stay there, Rosho,” Sasara warned.
“Then shall we get sick together?”
Rosho’s arms were open wide.
He was still there this time, waiting for him.
So, Sasara stepped into the rain. He let the raindrops sink into him this time, wholly. He embraced Rosho like there was going to be no tomorrow.
“Please, don’t leave again.”
Rosho didn’t leave.
With his arms around Sasara, Rosho held the shaking, cowardly, lonely comedian.
“Is it cold?” Rosho asked.
“The rain’s pretty warm.”
“Strange,” Rosho chuckled. “Rain should be cold, from what I know.”
Sasara shrugged. He didn’t get it either as to why each droplet felt so warm . A million questions were running through his head. They’re eating him away, slowly but surely, and he lets them.
Warm rain. It’s unbelievable. Sasara wanted to assume that he had utterly lost it. Can he blame the downpour too? For all he had gone through, all these riddling feelings—can he blame it on the sorrowful rain?
He can—he would, but right now was serenity. And he won’t let the rain wash it away this time.
“Rosho,” He was startled at how his voice was so raspy. He was stunned at how much it was shaking. Fears, tears, and anxiety all mixed into one confession: “I love you.”
“I don’t know what I can do for you, but from the bottom of my heart, I want to be by your side for the rest of my life. I’ll stop running away, so let me be here.”
Silence—until Rosho placed his head on Sasara’s neck. “So be here,” he said, “and stay.”
Whether it was the warmth of the rain or chilling tears didn’t matter.
“I’m sorry. I love you. I’m so sorry, Rosho, for everything I’ve done to you. I love you so much.”
What Sasara wanted was not for the rain to end.
“Me too. I’m sorry for leaving. I’m here. I love you too.”
All he wanted was to be with someone. To spend the rainy day together, warm, with rice crackers, pudding, and a can of beer—a simple, mundane life.
Their hair, dripping with rainwater, mingled with each other. The hug never broke, even as a flower had blossomed amid the storm. Their feelings overlapped, and they understood each other again, just a little. To Sasara, Rosho is warm; to Rosho, Sasara had always been the sun—his only sun.
For Sasara, the rain that day wasn’t so bad.