Chapter Text
The rain came down in sheets, a cold April drizzle that soaked through Nana’s coat as she stood under a flickering street lamp. London was louder than she’d expected—cars splashing through puddles, distant laughter from a pub, the hum of a city that never quite slept. She’d been here for three years now, studying film at a university she’d chosen half for its prestige and half to escape the echoes of Seisho’s stage lights. The scripts she wrote were good, her professors said, but they lacked something—heart, maybe. She hadn’t found it yet.
“Drunk in the rain, really old habits, really old baggage” she muttered to herself, the lyrics slipping out unbidden. That song had been stuck in her head since she’d heard it last week, looping through her late-night editing sessions. She adjusted her umbrella, and started walking toward her flat.
That’s when she saw her.
Mahiru stood across the street, her silhouette unmistakable even under a dark green hood. She was clutching a paper bag—groceries, maybe?—and staring up at the sky like she could will the rain to stop. Nana’s breath caught. It had been years since graduation, since the revues, since their final performance. They’d drifted—texts turning irregular, calls unanswered. Life after Seisho had a way of pulling people apart.
“Mahiru?” Nana’s voice cracked over the rain, louder than she’d meant.
Mahiru turned, eyes widening. “Banana-chan?”
For a moment, they just stared, the street between them a river of memory. Then Mahiru smiled—that soft, hesitant smile Nana had once memorized—and crossed over, splashing through a puddle without flinching.
“What are you doing here?” Nana asked, stepping closer, her umbrella tilting to shield them both.
“Exchange program,” Mahiru said, brushing wet bangs from her face. “Started last month. I didn’t know you were still in London.”
“Film school,” Nana replied, her heart thudding. “I’ve been here since… well, a while.”
The silence stretched, heavy with things unsaid. Mahiru’s cheeks were flushed from the cold, her eyes catching the streetlamp’s glow. She looked older—sharper, somehow—but still so much like the girl who’d once clung to her in the dorms, whispering fears she couldn’t voice to anyone else.
“You’re soaked,” Nana said, stepping even closer. “Come on. My place is just around the corner.”
Nana’s flat was a mess of creativity—scripts strewn across the table, a camera perched on a shelf, a faint hum of life in the clutter. She flicked on a lamp, casting a soft glow, then crossed to her small speaker. “Something to dry out the silence,” she said, half to herself, scrolling her phone. Mahiru peeled off her coat, settling onto the couch, her presence filling the room like a spotlight Nana couldn’t ignore.
The opening chords of “Love U Like That” spilled out— “Drunk in the rain, really old habits, really old baggage…” —and Nana froze, the lyrics hitting too close. She’d been playing it on repeat lately. Now, with Mahiru here, it feels like fate is mocking her.
Mahiru tilted her head, listening. “This is… nice. What is it?”
“Lauv” Nana said, setting a kettle on. “It’s been stuck in my head. Fits the weather, I guess.”
Nana handed Mahiru a mug of tea, their fingers brushing. She sat beside her, closer than necessary, the couch creaking under their shared weight. The air thickened, the music weaving through the patter of rain outside.
“You’re soaked” Mahiru said, her voice soft, eyes tracing Nana’s damp hair. “You didn’t have to walk me here.”
“Couldn’t let you drown out there” Nana replied, her gaze lingering. Mahiru looked different—older, surer—but still carried that quiet glow Nana had once orbited like a star. “Goddamn, okay, you’re so attractive, how did that happen?” The lyrics pulsed, and Nana’s chest tightened.
The pre-chorus kicked in— “And you’re kissin’ on my neck, I’m like, oh…” —and Mahiru shifted, her knee brushing Nana’s. “You’ve changed, London suits you.” she said.
“You haven't,” Nana murmured, then corrected herself. “No, you have. You’re… brighter.”
Mahiru smiled, and the chorus hit— “I love you like that, everything you do just turns me on…” —its beat syncing with Nana’s pulse. She felt it then, the pull she’d buried since graduation. Mahiru’s hand rested on the couch, inches from hers, and the song pushed her forward.
“I’ve missed you,” Nana said, the words slipping out raw. “More than I let myself admit.”
Mahiru’s breath hitched, her mug trembling slightly. “I miss you too.”
“Body on my mind like all night long…” The music swelled, and Nana’s hand moved, cupping Mahiru’s cheek. Her skin was cool, rain-damp, and the touch sparked something electric. Mahiru leaned in, tentative, her lips brushing Nana’s—just like the song—and Nana gasped, “Oh.”
It was instinct then. Nana tilted Mahiru’s chin, their mouths meeting in a kiss that started soft, then deepened, hungry and raw. Mahiru’s hands slid up Nana’s chest, fingers curling into her shirt, and Nana pulled her closer, the song’s plea— “Kiss me ’til there’s nothin’ left…” —echoing in every touch.
They broke apart, breathless, foreheads pressed together as the chorus looped— “Six o’clock in the mornin’, babe, want you more than yesterday…” Nana glanced at the clock: 1 a.m. Not morning yet, but time didn’t matter. The final chorus played out, and Mahiru laughed, a sound that lit up the room. “Stay,” Nana said, and Mahiru nodded, her hand finding Nana’s again. The rain kept falling, but inside, the song lingered, wrapping them in its rhythm.