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The persistent ache in Yoshi's throat, a dull throb that had taken root hours ago, was a relentless companion to the quiet tension that still hummed between them, an invisible barrier left in the wake of their recent, unspoken disagreement. He moved through the room with deliberate slowness, each movement a silent, plaintive echo of his discomfort, hoping to catch Junkyu's attentive gaze.
Attention was the only thing he was seeking, as he desired to perhaps illicit a softening glance that might mend the slight fracture in their undisclosed relationship.
Even if they weren’t… anything official yet.
The pain settled in Yoshi’s heart. Could tears wash his wavering emotions away and free him from his torment?
The world outside reflected his hurt and began to weep with a soft, steady rhythm. The first drops tapping against the windowpane like a gentle, insistent plea, and in that moment, a whimsical, slightly mischievous thought bloomed in Yoshi's feverish mind, painting a path to the very thing he yearned for most.
Without a sound, he slipped from the cozy warmth of their house, the cool, damp air immediately embracing his skin, a stark contrast to the burning fever that his body was punishing itself with. As the rain began to fall with a more determined force, each drop a tiny, exhilarating shock against his face and hair.
He stood there, shoulders slightly hunched, the fine mist clinging to his eyelashes, transforming the familiar garden into a blurry, ethereal landscape, a picture of fragile vulnerability illuminated by the soft, diffused light, knowing, with an almost childlike certainty, that Junkyu's eyes would soon find him.
His attention, Yoshi’s sole desire.
Indeed, a shadow soon emerged in the doorway, Junkyu’s form outlined against the lamplit interior, his expression a familiar blend of exasperation and profound worry, his hand reaching out in a silent, imploring gesture for Yoshi to retreat from the pouring rain.
A tiny, almost imperceptible shake of Yoshi's head, a delicate refusal framed by the glistening strands of his bright red hair, conveyed his adorable defiance, his entire being a sweet, stubborn masterpiece of unspoken longing, as if the rain itself had conspired to cloak him in a shroud of undeniable tenderness.
He remained steadfast in his impromptu deluge, a silent, beautiful anchor in the downpour, knowing that this small act of rebellion, this poetic refusal to yield, was the only language his aching heart could articulate, a yearning for Junkyu's boundless warmth to finally envelop him, washing away not just the chill, but the lingering shadows between them. And so, under the weeping sky, a silent understanding began to unfurl, a delicate bridge built between them, drop by drop.
With a soft sigh that was more fondness than frustration, Junkyu stepped out into the downpour, the urgent concern for Yoshi’s worsening health overriding his own discomfort as the cold water immediately soaked his clothes, his arm extending once more in a clear invitation for him to return to the sanctuary of their home.
But Yoshi, fueled by a playful spirit that momentarily eclipsed his illness, responded not with compliance but with a lighthearted dart away, his small, quick movements a silent challenge to Junkyu to pursue him through the misty veil of rain, a chase born of affection rather than true flight. Junkyu, a soft chuckle escaping his lips despite his worry, followed, his longer strides quikly closing the distance until his arms gently, securely wrapped around Yoshi’s waist, pulling him close amidst the swirling droplets and the scent of wet earth.
Held captive but content, Yoshi felt Junkyu’s worried words pressing against his ear, an unspoken plea for him to come inside, to avoid succumbing further to the relentless grip of his sickness, and it was then, a glint of impishness in his rain-kissed eyes, that Yoshi’s own silent condition was whispered into the space between them: a simple, tender kiss, the price for his retreat from the cooling embrace of the evening.
A momentary stillness descended upon Junkyu, a flicker of surprise passing over his face at the unexpected, yet utterly pleasant, demand.
Then a soft, warm smile spread across his features, and without another thought, under the generous, weeping sky, his lips found Yoshi’s, a soft, yielding press that banished the chill, igniting a warmth that settled deep in their bones, a silent promise of comfort and reconciliation shared in the heart of the storm.