Work Text:
Seemingly aflame were the first droplets of rain, only visible reflected in the restaurant's welcoming light, warm when they splattered on their faces. Stress 'Ooooh'-ed, then giggled. before finally handing him the takeout bags. She distanced herself, a delighted - and delightful - little whirlwind of mirth. Their heart swelled up alone at the thought that she was the way she was, lively, lovely, recklessly silly.
Foot propped on the lamp post's base, holding on with just a hand, she beamed at them with the very knowledge floating between them of what she was about to do. "Singing in the rain…
I'm singing in the rain"
As she continued, and as Iskall felt the drops get heavier, no longer just tickling his skin, he stashed away their dinner in his backpack. Somehow, by the time he looked at her again, she'd gotten herself rotating round the pole, hovering over the trottoir now, and above the cobbled street the next moment. The way she was smiling at weeping clouds, the world should have no way but to smile at her.
His chest tightened when he noticed the rain soak his hoodie, the wet fabric unpleasantly cold against his skin. As much as their partner's goofing was more than a welcome sight, she was about to get a cold, and that wasn't gorgeous, now was it?
What was gorgeous, though, was the pout she made when he grabbed her by the waist, and pryed her off the metal.
"Iss-kaaa-"
"No"
"Bu-"
"No buts, you know you get sick easily"
When they put her down, the fluffy down cardigan on her shoulders floofed up as she straightened in play-pretend-spite, and for whatever reason, that reminded Iskall more of a preening bird than of his girlfriend. He didn't know why, but that sight alone let his heart grow three sizes, then melt.
"You're pretty"
She gasped, "I feel pretty"
And before he could prevent the unpreventable, Stress had mischief on her mind - and in her eyes - once more.
"I feel pretty!
Oh so pretty!
I feel pretty, and witty and bright!
And I pity
Any girl who isn't me tonight"
Iskall too pitied all girls who could never be as gorgeous as theirs, prancing and dancing down the narrow cobblestone-paved street, an angel in the golden lamp's light.