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The soft hum of the news broadcast played in the background, a cheerful voice warning of "heavy rain and possible thunderstorms across Lucis today," but Cor barely registered it. He stood at the kitchen counter, absently sipping his coffee, his eyes fixed on the gray clouds rolling in. The rain hadn’t started yet, but the air carried that heavy stillness, the promise of a downpour. He liked storms—they were predictable, something he could weather.
"You know," Nyx called from the couch, his voice teasing, "this is the perfect weather for staying in. Cozy, relaxed. No one expects us to do anything. It’s like Ramuh himself is telling you to stop being such a hardass for once."
Cor turned just enough to see Nyx sprawled across the couch, one arm draped over the back like he owned the place—which, technically, he did, or at least half of it. Cor grunted in response, taking another sip of coffee.
"And whose idea was this day off again?" he asked, arching a brow.
Nyx smirked, folding his arms behind his head. "Yours, technically. Though I might’ve suggested it. Strongly. And by suggested, I mean pestered you until you gave in."
Cor muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like "glorified babysitting," but the corner of his mouth twitched. Nyx always took liberties, but Cor had to admit, his boyfriend’s enthusiasm had its charm.
"Anyway," Nyx continued, sitting up and gesturing toward the darkening sky like he was narrating a great epic, "we should make the most of it. Back in Galahd, we used to have festivals for days like this. Rainy season was the best. Celebrating life, renewal, Ramuh, and all that poetic stuff. It’s like the whole island came alive."
Cor turned fully now, leaning an elbow on the counter. "Festivals? For rain?"
Nyx nodded, his grin softening into something more nostalgic. "Yeah. Rain meant everything. Crops, fresh water, even cooling off after those heat waves that made you think the sun was trying to kill you. We’d have music, dancing, food—tons of food. Everyone would join in. Even the cranky elders who swore they couldn’t dance anymore."
Cor crossed his arms, his stern expression giving way to mild curiosity. "Dancing in the rain sounds impractical."
"Impractical but fun," Nyx countered, pointing a finger at him. "That’s your problem, Aroha. You’ve got to let loose once in a while. Haven’t you ever just… let go?"
Cor didn’t answer immediately. He turned back to the window, the sound of rain starting to patter softly against the glass. When was the last time he’d let go? The thought felt foreign like it belonged to a younger version of himself—one who hadn’t yet lived through the weight of responsibility.
Nyx chuckled, pulling Cor from his thoughts. "Thought so. Lucky for you, I’m here to teach you. We’re going full Galahd-style relaxation today."
"I agreed to a day off, not a rain-dancing lesson," Cor said dryly, though there was a flicker of amusement in his tone.
Nyx stood, his grin widening. "Relax, Aroha. It’s just a drizzle. Come on, let’s start with something easy: fort-building."
Cor raised an eyebrow but followed Nyx into the living room, already resigned to whatever chaos was about to ensue.
By the time Nyx declared the fort finished, Cor was sitting cross-legged inside the haphazard construction of blankets, cushions, and furniture. It was… chaotic, to say the least. One particularly ambitious blanket was held up by a broomstick leaning precariously against the couch.
Nyx plopped down beside him, grinning like a kid. "Admit it. This is the best thing you’ve ever done on a day off."
"It’s… serviceable," Cor muttered, his eyes sweeping the inside of the fort. The soft glow of battery-powered lanterns cast warm shadows on the blanket walls, making the space feel surprisingly cozy. The rain outside had grown heavier, the sound muffled but rhythmic. Cor wouldn’t say it aloud, but the fort wasn’t terrible.
"Serviceable?" Nyx repeated, feigning offense. "I’ll take that as high praise, coming from you."
Cor rolled his eyes and leaned back against the cushions, letting the momentary quiet settle between them. He’d expected the day to drag, but the fort—and Nyx’s relentless enthusiasm—made it easier to relax. For the first time in weeks, the tension in his shoulders began to ease.
"Okay," Nyx said suddenly, sitting up with a gleam in his eyes. "Storytime. I’ll start."
Nyx’s stories were as wild as they were entertaining. One particularly exaggerated tale involved a storm so fierce it scared off a pack of daemons, only for the village elder to out-dance everyone, including the younger warriors.
"And then," Nyx said, gesturing dramatically, "the old man collapses into the mud, but not before he throws his cane in the air and yells, 'Still undefeated!'"
Cor smirked, shaking his head. "That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard."
"Ridiculous or legendary?" Nyx countered, leaning back with a self-satisfied grin.
"Legendary," Cor admitted after a pause, his voice laced with dry amusement. "But only because you’re the one telling it."
Nyx placed a hand over his heart, feigning offense. "I’ll take that as a compliment, Mashel."
Cor shook his head but didn’t argue, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. For once, he let himself enjoy the moment.
Eventually, Nyx stretched and stood, his blanket slipping off his shoulders. "All this storytelling’s made me hungry. Time to whip up some Galahdian comfort food."
Cor stayed put, arms crossed as he watched Nyx rummage through the kitchen. "You? Cooking? Should I be worried?"
Nyx peeked out from behind a cabinet door, feigning a wounded look. "I’ll have you know I’m a great cook. Trust me, old man—you’re in for a treat."
The sound of sizzling and the rich aroma of spices soon filled the air. Curiosity finally got the better of Cor, and he wandered to the kitchen, leaning against the doorway to watch Nyx work. The way Nyx moved—chopping vegetables with practiced precision, adding spices with confidence—was mesmerizing. This wasn’t Nyx putting on a show; it was Nyx being himself.
"You miss this, don’t you?" Cor asked quietly.
Nyx paused, his hands stilling. "Yeah," he admitted after a moment. "But it’s nice to share it with someone who actually appreciates good food. Even if that someone has no idea how to chop a carrot."
"Careful," Cor warned, though his voice was more amused than anything.
Nyx handed him a cutting board and knife with a grin. "Prove me wrong, Aroha."
The result was predictably clumsy, but Nyx’s laughter—warm and unrestrained—made Cor feel less self-conscious.
When the meal was ready, Nyx set the plates on the table with a flourish. The dish—a vibrant mix of spices, vegetables, and perfectly cooked meat—looked and smelled incredible.
Cor took a bite, pausing as the bold flavors hit his tongue. It was good. Better than good.
"Well?" Nyx asked, leaning on the counter, watching expectantly.
"It’s… good," Cor admitted, though he quickly took another bite.
Nyx smirked, clearly pleased. "Good? That’s it? Come on, Aroha, I need glowing praise here."
Cor shook his head but didn’t bother hiding the faint smile tugging at his lips. "Don’t get used to it."
As they ate, the storm outside raged on, but inside their little apartment, there was nothing but warmth, laughter, and the quiet contentment of two people who had finally learned how to let the world wait.
The dishes were piled in the sink, abandoned for later as the two of them sat together on the couch. Nyx had pulled a blanket over them, one arm draped lazily across Cor’s shoulders. The storm outside had reached its peak, thunder rumbling low and steady, the rain pounding against the windows. Inside, though, it was warm and still, the soft light of the lanterns casting shadows on the walls.
"Okay," Nyx said, breaking the silence, "I’ve got to know. What was the deal with you and storms? When we first met, you’d barely even glance at them. Now you’re all broody and poetic, staring out the window like you’re in a noir film."
Cor snorted, shaking his head. "You’re imagining things."
"Am I?" Nyx teased, sitting up just enough to rest his chin on Cor’s shoulder. "Come on, Aroha. Tell me something I don’t know."
Cor sighed, his gaze shifting toward the window. He was quiet for a moment, the sound of the rain filling the space between them. Finally, he said, "Storms were always a distraction. Unpredictable. When you’re out in the field, they make everything harder—visibility, footing, comms. They get people hurt if you’re not careful."
Nyx listened, his expression softening as Cor continued.
"But," Cor added, his voice quieter now, "after a while, I started to think of them differently. They’re... steady. You know what to expect, even when they’re at their worst. You wait them out, and eventually, they pass."
Nyx tilted his head, studying Cor’s profile. "You respect them."
"I guess," Cor admitted, his lips quirking into a faint smile. "They’re a challenge. Like someone I know."
Nyx’s laughter was light and genuine, his grip on Cor tightening for a moment. "Flattery from Cor Leonis? Must be my lucky day."
"Don’t get used to it," Cor replied, but the warmth in his tone took the sting out of the words.
They sat in comfortable silence for a while, the storm outside calming to a gentle patter. Nyx traced absent patterns on Cor’s arm, his voice soft when he spoke again.
"Back in Galahd, my sister used to say storms were a chance to reset. Like a clean slate. Everything starts fresh when the rain stops."
Cor turned his head slightly, catching Nyx’s gaze. "And you? What do you think?"
Nyx smiled, his eyes bright despite the dim light. "I think she was right. And I think it’s not so bad, riding out a storm with you."
Cor’s hand found Nyx’s under the blanket, his thumb brushing lightly over Nyx’s knuckles. He didn’t say anything, but the gesture spoke louder than words.
"See?" Nyx said, leaning into him with a grin. "I told you this day off would be good for you."
Cor rolled his eyes, but he didn’t pull away. "You’re insufferable."
"Yeah, but you love me for it."
Cor let out a low chuckle, the sound rare and soft. "Yeah. I do."
The sound of the rain shifted from a steady downpour to a soft drizzle, the thunder rolling farther away with each passing minute. The lanterns flickered in the fort, their glow warm and comforting as Nyx stretched lazily, his head resting against Cor’s shoulder.
"Looks like the worst of it’s over," Nyx murmured, his voice low and content.
Cor glanced toward the window, watching as the storm clouds began to thin, patches of lighter gray visible through the shifting sky. The rain was still falling, but it had lost its edge, turning gentle, almost soothing.
"Come on," Cor said suddenly, shifting to sit up straighter.
Nyx blinked at him, his face scrunching in mild confusion. "Come on where? The fort’s perfect, and I’m very comfortable."
"The roof," Cor replied, standing and stretching.
Nyx tilted his head, curiosity lighting up his expression. "The roof? Seriously?"
"You said something about letting go," Cor said, offering Nyx a hand to pull him up. "And about how rain’s supposed to be some kind of clean slate."
Nyx grinned as he took Cor’s hand, letting himself be pulled to his feet. "Wow, the great Cor Leonis taking my advice? I should mark this day on the calendar."
Cor rolled his eyes, but there was a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Don’t make me regret it."
By the time they reached the roof, the rain had dwindled to a fine mist, the cool air wrapping around them as they stepped outside. The city stretched out below, the wet pavement gleaming under the soft light of streetlamps. Patches of the sky were starting to lighten, hints of pale gold peeking through the receding storm clouds.
Nyx walked to the edge of the roof, tilting his face up to the sky and spreading his arms wide. "See? Isn’t this better? You’ve got the whole city beneath you, the storm washing everything clean—it’s perfect."
Cor hung back for a moment, watching as Nyx turned to him, rain clinging to his hair and clothes, his grin brighter than any light breaking through the clouds.
"You’re ridiculous," Cor said, stepping closer.
"And you’re predictable," Nyx shot back, reaching out to grab Cor’s hand and pulling him forward. "Come on, Aroha. Just try it."
Cor sighed but let himself be led to the edge, his eyes scanning the horizon. The rain was cool against his skin, the air fresh and sharp in his lungs. He could feel the weight of the day lifting, the steady rhythm of the world settling around him.
Nyx bumped his shoulder gently. "Not so bad, right?"
"It’s… not bad," Cor admitted, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips.
Nyx let out a triumphant laugh, throwing an arm around Cor’s shoulders. "See? Told you I’m full of good ideas."
Cor shook his head, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he tilted his face up to the sky, letting the rain fall freely.
"You know," Nyx said, his voice softer now, "if this was Galahd, this is the part where we’d dance. Nothing fancy, just… letting the rain carry you."
Cor gave him a skeptical glance. "Don’t even think about it."
"Too late," Nyx said, spinning away dramatically, his arms outstretched as he turned in slow, lazy circles. "Come on, Aroha. Live a little."
Cor stayed still for a moment, his arms crossed, watching as Nyx moved across the roof like he didn’t have a care in the world. The rain clung to his lashes, his hair falling messily across his face, and Cor felt something shift—something lighter, freer.
With a resigned sigh, Cor stepped forward, catching Nyx’s hand and pulling him into a steady, grounding grip.
"This is not dancing," Cor said firmly.
Nyx’s grin was dazzling. "It’s close enough."
They stood there on the roof as the storm faded entirely, the city below them quiet and glistening, the first rays of sunlight breaking through the clouds.
For the first time in a long while, Cor felt the world settle around him, steady and calm. And with Nyx’s laughter ringing in his ears and the rain washing away the last of his tension, he thought maybe—just maybe—this wasn’t such a bad idea after all.