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“Beware of the rain.”
Grandma always said to avoid the rain at all costs. Every time I would inquire as to "Why?" After all, I enjoyed the rain.
She never gave an explanation.
If she'd said it for the pittering cold and the momentary numbness that drifted along it, I would have reasoned that cold is imminent in all seasons, not just winter, regardless of the weather, the day, or the hour.
If she'd answered it was for the ruptured downpour creeping through our walls, I'd have claimed it was another secure for water; as long as it was around the sizable river in our doorways would never dry.
Had she closed her eyes and merely fixed me with a loving, dejected gaze, that's when I fell silent, unable to say anything in witty reply.
And so I always brushed off her words.
Haruka lifts his gaze to the dreary greys hovering over. Raindrops fall one after another on his face in an idyllic, placid stream before slipping by in a line. He feels a drop land on his right cheek, another on his lips, and a third below his eye. He then lowers his head to peer straight ahead.
The other guys were long taken to shelter by their friends or families; only him remained standing stationary in front of the floodlight overlooking his school gates, the streets empty except from his own. They had warmth to share and borrow from another heart that treasured them in the midst of the sky' dreaded pain. Except for him, all of them.
As Haruka waits, vehicle noises sporadically resound by. At times, he checks his phone, wanders from far left to far right, and at other times, he stops and stares beyond what his sight sees.
The drenched school blazer clinging onto his skin absorbs the chill and transmits it to deeper apathy. Earlier than this patch of mockery, he was over the horizon knowing Touma will pick him up today.
In more ways than one, they were going to delight in their brief time together; agreed to hang out and color-paint a whole week's worth of monochrome, drab memories.
Time where they would talk with each other, two companions who seem removed from the need for anybody else in this world. He looks into Touma as he draws all the warmth condensed in the roadways and offers it to him.
The final bit of ideation Haruka used to make their plans come to life—the laughter the two of them shared while enjoying the aroma of Touma's coffee in his slightly wrinkly palm and the plain juice in Haruka's own—was damned to gloom by the summer's downpour.
Haruka moves over to a wall that is farther from the school gates as his legs begin to fine-tune to the ache. He pulls out his phone and dials the number key-craved in the innermost of his memory.
No one picks up.
Taking a deep breath and letting it settle the silence. Haruka stores back his phone in its place, exhales once more, and lies back against the watered-down dusted wall.
The drumming of the rain and howling winds blends with Haruka's own despondent hopes.
In most cases, he'd hit the road and trace his way back to where he came from; but, something urgent might have arised and Touma might have gotten entangled in it. Perhaps he'll sooner than later phone back and apologise; possibly cancel their plans, altogether.
It's for the better. Since Touma has a relatively weak immune system, a cold cannot be affecting him, too. It's better that way.
Anyone in Haruka's shoes would have felt more hurt and want for reproach in his heart than Haruka carried inside. If Touma was to renege on their plans without one notice, he wouldn't have minded, even then.
Generally, once a person develops a deep connection that binds them to another, they start to expect that other to be their missing half. But that's just the front; everyone is born whole. What they seek is fulfillment of the starved self through the other person being a kinder them—someone who understands them without being told; someone who soothes even their harshest nightmares without being instructed how; someone who can transform their words and ideals into singing birds that are present, audible to all; and so on.
Man wants his partner to be as familiar with his innerworkings as if their veins were one; every stream, every thought, and every sorrow must be peered at and hedged in with threefolded environ as what was given out. The ideal is that.
But humans are selfish they offer what they deem is available in return and pat themselves for their part. They act out the role of a judge who has ever had power, condmending their other selves when they lack something, criticising and blaming them for not compensating for what they had laid out for them. And if the other choose to turn away, the judge mask takes but an instant to crumble down, like a king's cloak revealing a destitute man who has long since lost all of his wealth. They stoop to their knees, throwing away their sense of self, pleading with the other to return.
It was foolish. But it was true.
Because Touma was the former, Haruka didn't want to become the latter. To put it mildly, he relished the illusion that he knew Touma like the back of his hand. When it came to Haruka in particular, Touma was not good at being cruel. Even so, he will continue to wait.
If Touma had done one wrong he would speak of a hundred rights in his defense. If Touma did only one good deed he would carry it in his heart and sing of it to the end of time. However, if Touma had lost the sparkle with which he looks at him, if his eyes were devoid of all traces of emotion when Haruka was reflected in them. He would reek himself from the inner out in mud so that when Touma reluctantly hands him a cleaning towel, his eyes would at least reflect pity when looking down at him.
For a moment's worth, the rain seemed to strum against the asphalt farther away from his ears, soon enough it resumed its previous force. When the accumulating cold slowly causes Haruka's skin to peel, his garments and pants weigh him down and turn the chill to numb.
"Haru!!" Haruka heard Touma yell his name.
When Haruka turned to the right, Touma was rushing towards him against the wind with similarly soaked clothes to his own. Sweat drops on his face blended in with the raindrops; Impossible to tell apart from the downpour's own.
An excruciating lump welled up in Haruka's chest as his eyes glistened back. Despite himself, he wanted to let the words flow on their own, sadness, longing and the thought of waiting itself hindred breathe in Haruka's mouth.
"Why didn't you answer back.." Haruka's chest flooded with a swirl of emotions that came on but then; they were estranged, spiraling around so intense that they left him underwhelmed.
"Sorry, Haru. On the way, my motorcycle broke down.. I had it fixed at whatever nearby mechanic I could find, then I was back on the road." Touma's voice picks an octave higher and a calmer pace, sorry-sounding. "I miscalculated my distance, veered off track some time, and lost several steps..."
Touma's eyes flinch slightly, "Haru.." he calls out in his steady, forever uniform kindliness.
Touma prompts Haruka's avoidant eyes to lock with his own and reaches his hand to cradle the tear that is falling down Haruka's soft, unbearably cold skin. "I'm really sorry, Haru. The thought I left you waiting here all alone for so long, that you could surely catch a cold now, the thought continously ate away at every inch of my heart.."
He studies Haruka's gaze, still straining to turn away. His lips tremble slightly, as if he were trying to speak but nothing comes out as if he has lost all power to communicate. When Touma saw Haruka in this state, he went on, "I couldn't help but think that you could still be waiting for me."
In reminiscent of defiance that has nothing but docility within, Haruka lets his shoulders sag forward. As Touma forces their eyes to interlock once again, more rain threatens to tumble down Haruka's cheek; His threadbare face is gently rubbed back and forth by the chill-gloved palm holding him.
The mere act on Touma's part renders a wave of ocean to glizzer in Haruka's gaze, the glope of his eyes in the middle forges a picture perfect imitation of the sun swimming amidst the waters. Touma raises his other hand in a similar fashion to his other one, cups Haruka's face, and casts a guilt-ridden, anguished gaze downward.
His head was hung low. "Can you hug me tight? Expel this daunting cold wave that won't stop?" Haruka raises his face, a hint of mental fogginess and desire flashing across.
Touma's hands fall from Haruka's face as they wrap around his shoulders before finally resting on his waist. He tightens his grip pulling Haruka deeper into his chest both their grips on each others' backs are digging daggers.
"We are going to my place." With a muffle against his body, Haruka echoes Touma's words without saying anything in turn. His eyes become intimately familiar and surrendered, going from threshold to tranquil. If one could be more vulnerable than at the moment of their death, then this was Haruka's.
As the pools of rain rebound off the water, Touma continues to talk nothings of his day or the plans he has for when they arrive home while Haruka follows close behind, matching his steps to Touma's. Both of them are covered in rain from head to toe, but, as if it were some magnetic ghost's doing, neither concedes the fact.
Haruka, seeming to lose focus in the leaden of the skies, weaves his freezing hand into Touma's. Each of Touma's touches reverberates, each of his words croons a lullaby, and each of his feelings towards him is exactly fitted to its place.
“Beware of the rain.”
Haruka understood his grandma's words.