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May wakes to the sound of rain against her window.
It’s the middle of the afternoon, but it’s almost as dark as evening. Angry gray clouds are blocking out the Sun. The little light that escapes through isn’t nearly enough to light up the room. She swears she only closed her eyes a few moments ago, and it was barely partly cloudy through the drawn curtains…
May turns her head to look at the clock on the side table. She’s been asleep for hours. She slept through the lunch cart and everything. They left a tray of food, but the smiley fries are surely cold and soggy by now, and she already knows she’d rather wait for dinner than eat any of it.
Still hazy, she reaches for the remote to her left, and moves the bed until she’s sitting upright. There’s no point trying to go back to sleep, now that it’s raining so hard. She’ll never be able to sleep through a storm again.
May can’t get up to close the curtains herself, and she doesn’t feel like calling a nurse, so she just sits in bed and watches the rain fall. Burrowed in her pile of blankets, trapped behind the glass, she ought to feel protected from the wind and the cold. It creeps in despite her best efforts, always when she’s least expecting it, always when she thinks she’s safe. It chills her to the bone, makes her feel dry and brittle and fragile, makes her feel like she’s falling through the sky the same way the raindrops do. She can almost see herself from outside of herself, rocketing past the window, crashing into the Pillar like a wishing star. She’s lucky she can’t see the Pillar from here, but she knows it looms in the distance from the other side of the building, watching her, waiting for her. May curls up tighter at the thought.
She’s not sure how long she spends sitting, watching, waiting. But through the white noise of the rain, there’s a knock on her cracked-open door.
“I saw that it started raining…” calls a voice, timid. “...and I thought, um, someone should come check on you.”
“Come in,” she answers.
Wally looks impossibly small and frail standing in the doorway, backlit from the hallway. His pajama pants are dragging on the ground a little because they’re too long. May is sure he must feel intimidated to walk into her room when it looks like this, messy and dark and unwelcoming. But he stares her down without hesitation, like he did the last time they faced each other outside of the hospital, and shuffles over to her bedside. His IV drip beeps quietly, on-rhythm with the ticking clock on the wall.
“I wanted to come earlier, but they told me you were sleeping.” He speaks softly, the way she’d talk to a cornered Poochyena with a broken leg. It’d be annoying if she didn’t know him. “I didn’t want to wake you. But when I heard the rain, I figured you would be up anyway… I brought you pretzels, in case you missed lunch.”
May has to restrain herself from making a face. It’s the gluten-free ones that taste like sawdust. But it’s still a kind gesture, so she takes them with one hand and leaves them on the side table. Their fingers brush – for once, Wally’s hands are warmer than her own. May retreats back under her blanket to warm up.
“Thank you,” she says. Her voice is hoarse from lack of use. “You can sit. If you want.”
Wally sits in the chair by her bedside, even though he’s a little too small for it. His slides hang just above the ground. Aware of it, he sits up straight and squares his shoulders to look bigger.
May’s Sylveon slips out from under the bed to greet him. It brushes its head against his hand, eager to be pet. When Wally obliges, it climbs into his lap and settles down. Sylveon doesn’t purr, necessarily, but it does chitter and rumble pleasantly at the affection. Wally isn’t quite used to Sylveon’s clinginess yet, but he isn’t allergic to its fur, so he doesn’t mind sharing the seat.
“You look tired,” May says, after a stretch of silence. Usually she would be comfortable to sit beside him and not say anything, but the thrum of the rain has her practically bristling.
“I’m always tired,” Wally responds, with a little laugh at the end. “I’ll be okay. Just tired. I don’t have much to talk about today. I didn’t sleep well last night, so I’m a little…” May waves her hand to cut him off before he starts rambling and making excuses. He doesn’t need to. She understands. “Right. Well. I just didn’t want you to be alone. I know your dad’s out today, and… rain is hard.”
“Rain is hard,” May echoes. She’s looking somewhere far away.
There’s another few moments of quiet. Wally looks down, timid, and plays with Sylveon’s fur. But he builds his courage up again, and looks back toward her, and says, “I know you’re tired, too. We don’t have to talk. I just thought it would be nice to, um, keep you company.”
Sylveon’s ribbon finds May’s wrist under the blankets and curls around it. It brings her back down to Earth – gently this time, foot first, not crashing and burning. She meets Wally’s eyes and smiles. It’s shy, self-conscious, but true.
“It is nice.” She says. May sticks her other hand out of her bundle, revealing a Dawn Stone clutched tight in her palm. “But I didn’t feel alone.”
Wally smiles back.
He falls asleep there after a while, curled up in the guest chair with Sylveon napping in his lap. May doesn’t sleep – but she sits there and watches him, studies the rosy glow in his cheeks and the way his exhales blow his bangs out of his face, and she reminds herself over and over again that she’s not alone this time around.
✱✱✱
May wakes to a flash of lightning illuminating the floor.
It’s the middle of the night, but electricity continuously lights up the sky like daytime. Even with the curtains closed and the shades hung, her Secret Base is bathed in cool light, washing over the plushies and bags of chips scattered on the floor and reaching all the way to the edge of the pullout couch. It casts on her wool blanket, just for a moment, and she shivers.
The thunder comes a few moments after, so heavy it shakes the leaves overhead. May sits up, too unnerved by the noise reverberating in her chest to stay down. Mightyena, curled up at the base of the couch by her foot, even stirs a bit at the feeling. He pokes his head up to look at May. She nods reassuringly, even if she doesn’t mean it. Mightyena stares at her for a bit longer. Then he looks to her left and snorts.
“Don’t wake him,” May hisses.
Mightyena looks back at her. He squints. May squints back. It’s a staredown.
“Don’t do it,” she warns.
Mightyena squints harder. May squints back.
She blinks first.
Mightyena stands, stretches, and shakes out his fur. The whipping sound, combined with him shedding in the air, disturbs the pile of blankets to her left. Wally emerges, barely awake. Then he sneezes. Violently.
“Mica! Bad dog!” May throws a pillow at Mightyena. He catches it in his jaws, huffs, and curls up to go back to sleep. Wally sneezes again. May groans.
“Whahappen…?” Wally slurs, as he rubs his eyes and sniffles. His voice is hoarse and low from sleep. May can practically see the gears turning in his brain, one at a time. “What time is it? Is it raining? Are you okay?”
“I’m okay,” she answers. “It’s late. Go back to sleep.”
Wally can barely keep his eyes open, but he frowns. “Nuh-uh.”
“The fuck you mean , ‘nuh-uh?’ ”
“I’m not goinsleep,” he says, “if you’re up. It’s raining.”
May huffs, ruffles his hair. “Your flight is in, like, twelve hours. You need your beauty sleep.”
“I’m already–” he yawns, “--beautiful… you’re up, I’m up.”
“You suck.” May is already trying to tuck him back in. He’s got his own blankets that he leaves with a sweatsuit in her Secret Base. They always smell like his detergent, different from the earthy scent that hangs on all of her belongings up here. She doesn’t know how he keeps them so fresh. She can’t complain. “I’ll go back to sleep if you do. I promise.”
“No, you won’t.” He’s not wrong, but he is being annoying. Wally yawns again and settles back down, but he’s still looking at her. “I’ve got, like, twelve hours… you’re not bothering me. I’m already packed. It’s okay.”
“You won’t feel good if you don’t sleep…” But Wally’s not budging. He’s not the kind of friend to leave her alone to deal with her own bullshit. He’s staring at her with the exact same expression Mightyena gives her. She just can’t win. May sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose. It’s her own stubbornness being reflected right back at her. This is exactly why his uncle says she’s a bad influence. She’s got this poor kid staying up late and drinking Red Bulls and trespassing and, Legends forbid, sleeping over a girl’s room. Look at him. She’s so dead.
Wally knows she’s already lost the battle. With his fists balled up in his comforter, he holds out his arms and pouts at her. He’s got these infuriating sleepy eyes that are just impossible to say no to. May is fully aware she’s being played and she’s helpless to do anything about it. He’s going to bait her into being vulnerable and talking about her problems. He’s disgusting. “At least lay down and rest… I’ll sleep if you do. Swear on my life.”
May grumbles and crosses her arms. Wally bats his stupid delicate eyelashes at her. She folds. “Fine! Fine.”
He nods sternly, as if to say that’s what I thought, then promptly smiles before May can change her mind. She curls up in the crook of his arm, and he wraps her up in the blankets. The fabric-softener scent envelops her, a comforting blend of lavender and aloe. Her heart thunders in her chest. She blames it on the lightning outside.
Wally shifts until he’s comfortable, then sighs contentedly as his eyelids flutter shut again. There’s a long stretch of silence, other than the wind and rain outside. Even the thunder stops for a bit. May is almost sure he’s fallen back asleep again.
“Rain is hard,” she whispers, vulnerable and small.
“Rain is hard,” he echoes. “I know.”
“I can never sleep when it’s like this,” May says. “Can’t even get tired. You can sleep through a hurricane.”
“That’s my secret,” Wally says. “I’m always tired.”
She chuckles a little, but it’s bittersweet. A thought crosses her mind – it’s enough to make her eyes well up like a child. “I don’t know what I’m going to do when you’re gone. When it’s like this.”
“Mica will take care of you,” he reassures. “He’s a good boy.”
“I know,” she says, “but it’s not the same.”
Wally pauses, thinking about what to say. He still hasn’t opened his eyes, but May is sure he can hear she’s upset. “I know it’s scary. But it’s a good scary, I think. Like cliff diving. Or when you got us kicked out of Aether.”
“That wasn’t totally my fault,” May protests.
He smiles, crooked against his pillow. “Both our faults. That was a good scary. I’m nervous about being on my own again, too. You know that. But it’ll be good. I think it will be good.”
“I don’t want you to go,” May pleads.
Wally pulls in a little closer. His hand behind her back squeezes her shoulder reassuringly.
“I won’t be gone forever,” Wally answers, “I promise.”
May finds his other hand, and squeezes back. “Okay. If you promise.”
Wally drifts off soon after that. She doesn’t dare move, afraid to disturb him again. But as he sleeps soundly despite the rain continuing to pour down, May watches, and commits to memory as much as she can, and begins to think that maybe things will be okay in the end after all.
May doesn’t sleep, but she rests.
✱✱✱
May wakes to rolling thunder.
It’s early in the morning, just before sunrise, and she can see the rain outside the bedroom window. She turns to check the clock, hums, and slips out of bed as carefully as she can.
The main room in the cottage is still messy from last night. There’s takeout containers and a stack of graded exams on the coffee table. The blankets and throw pillows are haphazardly scattered. May’s sneakers are on the rug – it’s a miracle she didn’t get chewed out for that at any point. She starts cleaning up in pleasant silence. The room is quiet, except for the weather outside, but it doesn’t get under her skin. The rain is calming in its consistent pitter-patter. When the thunder periodically rolls over her, it reminds her she’s alive.
Once everything is straightened up and the papers are back in their portfolio case, May yawns and stretches out her back. She makes herself a cup of decaf tea, pulls up a kitchen stool to the sliding windows, draws the curtains, and watches the rain. Swampert is laying outside in a mud puddle – she rumbles an acknowledgement to her trainer, then goes back to basking in the rain.
May isn’t sure how much time has passed when Wally shuffles out. Her tea is lukewarm and half-empty, at least. She doesn’t turn to look at him, but she knows his footsteps.
“What day is it?” He asks, husky and bleary-eyed. He doesn’t need to ask if she’s okay. He can tell.
“Saturday morning,” May answers. She puts her tea down on the table. She’s still looking outside – the Sun is just beginning to come up, casting pink-purple light through the dreary clouds. “Don’t worry. You can sleep in.”
Wally puts hands on her shoulders, bumps his head into the back of hers like a baby Wooloo. His hair tickles the back of her neck. She snorts.
“Up late,” he murmurs. “Come back to bed, junebug.”
“In a minute,” she reassures. “I’m enjoying the rain.”
Wally grumbles something about passing out standing up after all the work he’s been doing. But he stands beside her, with an arm draped loose around her shoulders, and waits until she’s ready.
Wally wastes no time burrowing back under the covers when she finally gets up again. It’s cold this time of year in the South Province, so close to the seafront, and it has a way of seeping into your bones on damp mornings and dragging you down. Both of them are more than happy to stay inside and in bed on days like this. Wally wraps her up tight in his arms when she slips back beside him. May fits perfectly into place even with his smaller stature. His legs tangle up in hers like second nature. It’s comforting.
May rests her head on Wally’s chest, listens to the steady drum of his heartbeat. It’s taken him twenty-seven whole years to grow a little chest hair. He’s mighty proud of himself. She’s fond of his sad little stubble, even when he asks if it looks silly – it’s a marker of his health. It’s becoming of him, she always insists.
Wally runs fingers through her hair, rubs soothing circles in the small of her back. Her breathing slows. She basks in the pleasantly drowsy feeling coming over her.
“I like it when it rains like this,” May whispers, and means it.
“Me, too,” Wally answers, and plants a kiss on the top of her head.
May closes her eyes, and goes back to sleep.