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There’s always something exciting about getting that first whiff of rain when Nabat’s brief wet season is just about to start. The Jixuan Desert area can have occasional sprinkles of moisture throughout the year, but the majority of it is very dry, with shade more likely to come from wind kicking up dust than from cloud cover. The wet season is a sharp departure from the norm and brings nearly a month of heavy, sometimes torrential, rainstorms.
This is their third rainy season in Nabat, and Boil has learned to recognize the signs of it starting—the darker, heavier clouds, cooler breezes, and the wet, earthy smell of an approaching storm. They’ve been seeing the signs for a few days now, which is unusually early according to Lienn, but apparently the start of the rains can vary from year to year.
The season unleashes its first deluge while he and Waxer are having dinner, and it’s loud enough for them to hear it all the way underground. As soon as Waxer realizes what it is, he grins before jumping to his feet and darting up the stairs. Boil follows a little slower so he can take his mushroom wrap with him. Like they often do when the rainy season finally starts, Waxer opens up their front door and they stand inside, watching and listening to the rain fall. Boil’s not sure he would say he missed the wind and rain and clouds of Kamino, but there is something in him that… responds to the crashes of thunder and rippling patter of raindrops.
Once the annual novelty wears off, the rainy season can be kind of boring—they can’t do as many things outdoors, and even the short road into town from their house can be too dangerous to traverse. But Boil has to admit he’s a little relieved that the rain started early this year. They’ll be departing on their long trip to Pzob in just a few days, and would have missed the rainy season entirely. He’s glad that they got to see some of it before they leave.
They watch until it grows dark, and Waxer even lets Pala frolic around in the rain a little, splashing through the puddles forming outside their door. The massiff has never been bothered much by the sound of rainstorms, but Waxer quickly calls him inside when they spot flashes of lightning illuminating the rocks above them.
The pounding of the rain is faint from their bedroom underground, but still lingers like soft white noise in the background, and occasionally a long rumble of thunder rolls across the world above them. It’s a nice sound as Boil settles under the covers with Waxer snuggled at his side.
+ + +
When Boil opens his eyes again to their dark bedroom, he’s not sure what woke him. The drumming of the rain is still discernible, but there doesn’t seem to be any thunder. That’s when he hears a shaky breath next to him, and can just make out Waxer sitting up in bed.
“Wax?” Boil mumbles sleepily, raising his head.
Waxer’s barely visible silhouette turns to him, and it seems like he’s scrubbing a hand across his face.
“Sorry,” Waxer murmurs. “Everything’s okay. Go back to sleep.”
Blinking up at him, Boil frowns. “Bad dream?” he asks.
Waxer shrugs—or Boil thinks he does in the near-darkness. “I guess… I dunno, it was weird.”
Turning onto his side so that he’s facing Waxer, Boil asks, “You wanna talk about it?”
There’s no answer right away, but Waxer lies back down and, when Boil opens his arms invitingly, he snuggles in close and lays his head against Boil’s chest.
“I think some of it’s gone now,” Waxer starts. “But I was on Kamino, walking down this big, empty hallway. There wasn’t anyone there at all, and I was looking for… I’m not sure, actually. It felt like it kept changing. At first I was looking for my batchmates, and then I was looking for you, but it got weird when I remembered that we never saw each other on Kamino before the war. The hallway started changing, and suddenly the layout wasn’t at all like I remembered, and I got lost.”
Boil can’t see Waxer’s face, but from the tone of his voice he can imagine Waxer’s frown.
“I dunno what any of that means, if anything,” Waxer continues. “It wasn’t really that bad, it was just weird and stressful.”
Boil nods, idly running a hand up and down Waxer’s back. “I had dreams kinda like that while we were still on Kamino,” he says.
“Really?”
“Mm. It was, uh, around the time we started on the full sim training and the year 5 obstacle courses. We were going to all these buildings I’d never been in before, and I kept having nightmares about getting lost and going to the wrong one.”
Waxer chuckles. “I think I did have a dream like that, but it was about being late to a marksmanship exam or something.”
Boil’s willing to bet that just about every cadet had some kind of nightmare about being late or missing an important training, inspection, or examination of some kind. The punishments for failing made sure that it was a fear all of them had. His other nightmares were usually about Kom’rk being on the receiving end of one of those punishments.
Before Boil can say anything else on the subject, Waxer murmurs, “I wonder what it looks like now.”
“You mean Kamino?”
“Yeah. I mean, I’m sure most of it looks pretty much the same, but they haven’t been using the cloning and training facilities for some time. Or, not in the same way, at least.”
As per the post-war legislation that also gave Clones their citizenship, the facilities on Kamino have been kept running in order to care for the millions of cadets—er, younglings, Boil reminds himself. His understanding is that many, if not most, have aged out or been adopted. Either way, the place they grew up in hasn’t been used to produce and train clone troopers like them for years now.
“Yeah…” Boil replies. “I guess we’ll find out soon.”
Before they head to Pzob, they’ll be stopping at Kamino to pick up some supplies. It’ll be their first time back since before the war ended. Boil is looking forward to the trip for several reasons, not least of which is his hope that a long stay around lots of brothers will help ease these lonely nightmares Waxer keeps having. He’s still undecided on if he’s looking forward to seeing Kamino again.
Waxer hums in agreement against Boil’s chest, and Boil keeps stroking his back as the silence stretches. For a moment, he wonders if they’re ready to go back to sleep, but then Waxer pulls away from Boil, scooting up a little so they’re face to face. Boil still can’t really see Waxer’s expression in the darkness, but he hears Waxer’s intake of breath before he starts speaking.
“D’you—I dunno how to say this, um… D’you feel kinda… sad?”
Boil blinks. “Sad?”
“I mean, about leaving on the trip. And not…” Waxer huffs, and it sounds slightly frustrated, like he’s trying to get his words in order and they’re not cooperating. “Not about the trip, really. I’m so excited to go and see Osera and everyone on Pzob, and to go traveling with you and Numa, and to be around brothers again…”
Waxer trails off and is silent for a moment, so Boil prompts him. “But…?”
Sighing, Waxer continues, “But it feels… sad to leave. I know that we’re coming back, and it’s not even really that long, but I’ve just been feeling kinda sad about it lately ‘n’ I don’t know why.”
There’s a note in Waxer’s voice that Boil recognizes when Waxer is upset with himself, whether it’s warranted or not, and Boil is quite certain it’s not.
Clearing his throat, Boil says, “I know what you mean.” He can just make out the shine of Waxer’s eyes looking at him, and he goes on. “It’s… This is our home.” He gestures vaguely at the corner of the room where their names are carved into the stone, even though Waxer probably can’t see him do it. “It feels strange to leave, even if it’s for, y’know, good reasons.”
The fabric of their pillow rustles as Waxer nods.
Boil licks his lips and keeps talking. “I was actually thinking about that earlier. I’m glad the rainy season started before we left, ‘cause otherwise we woulda missed it completely this year.”
“Oh yeah, that’s true,” Waxer agrees. “Even though it’s kind of the same thing as the past years, it’s nice to see it come around again, like…” Waxer searches for a word for a few moments. “Like a tradition,” he finally says.
Boil hums, thinking back on the rainy seasons they’ve witnessed here. Seeing the regular changes in weather throughout each year has been strangely satisfying. Boil has so many nice memories associated with the rhythms of Nabat, and each time the rains or a harvest or a festival returns, it brings back those memories like gentle echoes. They never had proper seasons on Kamino, and having the cyclical return of the rains each year is… comforting.
Their early lives were filled with a lot of routine, but those routines only served the goal of winning the war and, in retrospect, they had little long-term stability. The rigid structures that had seemed so absolute to him as a cadet were filled with so many uncertainties, with only his batchmates and the goal of eventual deployment as his anchors. Circumstances could change in an instant, and the war only made that even more apparent.
Nabat certainly has its routines, but there’s a depth and a history to them. Unlike most of Boil’s life, the rhythms of Nabat feel… stable. He supposes the feeling could be illusory—Nabat struggled so much during the war and still has its struggles with lack of trade and raiders—but the town has survived nonetheless. And Boil has seen how strong they can be when they come together. In birth, in death, in planting and the harvests and the rainy season, in the festivals and memorials that come and go each year like they have for centuries, the community of Nabat has their routines—their traditions. And he and Waxer have gotten to be a part of it, if only in some small ways.
Even though this isn’t their first rainy season and won’t be their last, it feels kind of sad to step out of the cycle of Nabat, even temporarily. They’ll be missing most of the rainy season and the muddy harvests they’ve helped with for the past couple of years. Their trip is only two months, but it’s still the longest they’ll have been away from Ryloth since they started living here.
Boil has no idea how to express all of these thoughts out loud, so instead, he clears his throat and says, “I’m gonna miss it here, even though I know we’ll be back. So… I know what you mean. It’s good, but… it feels sad, too.”
There’s a small sound of assent from Waxer before he leans into Boil, pressing their foreheads together. The dull roar of the rain continues in the background as they stay close for a few moments.
“Though,” Boil says, “if this keeps up we might need to swim to the Happabore when we leave.”
Waxer chuckles. “Maybe there’s a way to turn the hoverbike into a watercraft.”
“Just paddle up the road with the garden shovels,” Boil says. “Or better yet, hitch it to Pala and he can pull us.”
Snickering, Waxer snuggles in close to Boil again and leans in for a kiss. Boil happily obliges.
“Thanks, freykaa,” Waxer murmurs after a few moments.
Boil wraps his arms around Waxer, pulling him even closer, and Waxer melts into the touch. “‘Course,” Boil mumbles in response.
A deep rumble of thunder seeps down to them, punctuating the constant hum of the rain. Licking his lips and taking a breath, Boil starts singing softly.
Waxer makes a pleased hum and presses a kiss to Boil’s jaw as he hears the storm song—the song that so many of them sang with each other during the howling storms on Kamino. By the time Boil finishes, Waxer is relaxed and breathing slowly, and Boil falls asleep to the low sound of rain and Waxer’s warmth next to him.