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Fluixon likes the rain. He loves the way it’s always so silent outside, everyone else huddled in their homes while complaining. The sound of it pattering against the windows repeatedly is oddly soothing as well, and he finds comfort in things that are orderly. That being said though, he only likes the rain when he’s indoors.
He hates being in the rain. It reminds him too much of when he was forced to walk back home from school since his parents forgot him, his siblings outshining whatever he did. It also serves as a reminder of the time he had been locked out of the house, stuck in the rain after his parents had raged after seeing his grades drop “tremendously” (it had only been by ten marks, but the way his parents had looked at him—so disappointed, pitying almost—made him feel like he couldn’t do anything.) and kicked him out for five hours.
So what is he supposed to do in this predicament, where he isn’t technically in the rain but he’s still in it?
To keep things simple, he had planned to go out with the rest of the Conspiracy to celebrate the end of their finals. However, he had spent so much time laughing and being overly competitive in stupid games like Mario Kart that he failed to notice the darkening skies. By the time he had planned to leave, it was already lightly raining. Seraphim had insisted on driving him home, not wanting him to get drenched on the way back, but Fluixon was confident he could get home on time before the storm worsened.
Fluixon has shit judgement. Halfway through the walk home, the rain goes from a drizzle to heavy rain, leading to him being stuck under a bus stop, sitting on the sad, cold, singular metal bench under the shade with back against the plastic window of the bus stop and his knees pulled up to his chest to avoid getting wet from the huge puddle on the ground. He doesn’t have an umbrella with him either—he hadn’t expected it to rain, not when the skies were so fucking blue less than ten minutes ago!
While he waits for the rain to stop or at least lessen, he contemplates just running back home. He would get home faster, but he’d have to drench himself in the rain (if he feels his clothes stick to his body uncomfortably and his hair plaster against his forehead again, he might tear his own skin off.) and get his socks and shoes wet, which will take years to dry with how shitty his apartment’s heating system is, so he decides to just stay put.
The sound of the rain tapping against the roof is relaxing—that he can say. There’s something about the repetitive sounds that just scratches his brain in the right way and calms him down, but every time a stray droplet lands on his bare skin, he’s reminded that he’s outside and not sheltered properly at the moment, which doesn’t help him at all. He contemplates messaging a friend, maybe Thomas or Seraphim, to help him get out of the predicament, but his stupid pride doesn’t want people to see him in such a state, internally terrified of the rain. Lost in thought, he fails to notice his phone buzzing in his hands, not loudly, but just enough to cut through the pitter-patter of the rain.
Saps <3
Flux
Flux
My love
Darling
Dear
Fluixon
Fluixon
Fluixon Aculon
Fluxxxxxxxx
Flux
?
Sorry, didn’t notice the messages.
Saps <3
it’s alright
u holding up fine?
it’s raining pretty heavily
i can come get u if u want
Flux
I’m fine.
Saps <3
u sure?
i can bring your rain boots and the extra large umbrella so u don’t get too wet
Flux
I'll manage.
Fluixon shuts his phone off for the time being, still watching the weather intently as if staring at the rain clouds would somehow make it stop. He can see the puddle below him grow larger, something that unsettles him an irrational amount, and he wonders how long until he’ll be able to walk back home without hearing splashes below his feet.
In the meanwhile, he counts the cars that pass by. One car after another, he keeps track of them, not losing count of a single one. He remembers exactly five grey cars, two blue ones, seven black ones, and a white one cross the road before he notices a familiar figure standing on the opposite side of the street, a tote bag over one shoulder and an absurdly large umbrella covering the person.
The white hair and golden eyes staring straight at him are immediately recognisable—his love, his dearest, his universe, Saparata, has decided to play saviour and come to lead him back home with rain boots tucked inside of a tote bag like he’s Prince Charming coming to save the day or something stupid like that. He staggers over towards Fluixon as carefully as he can with all the puddles that cover the road before eventually reaching his partner, a glowing smile on his face.
“Came to get you.” Saparata states cheerfully, already taking out the rain boots that he had brought. The thought of an adult—an esteemed one at that—like Fluixon having to wear rain boots just to walk home ridicules him slightly, but he brushes the embarrassment aside. He has a valid reason as to why he dislikes getting overly wet.
“Didn’t have to.” Fluixon mutters, but Saparata has already slid his boots on and he’s already under the umbrella, side pressed against Saparata, who leans down slightly to press a kiss on the crown of his head and fixes his hair, primarily the stray patch of purple that stands out amongst the other pitch black strands.
“But I did, didn’t I?” The question makes Fluixon pause before he scoffs and pulls Saparata along with him, walking ahead while the other trails beside him.
The trip home is quiet, with Saparata humming to a song that sounds like the one he played when they had their first movie night at Fluixon’s place, which back then hadn’t been inhabited by Saparata as well. Fluixon watches his surroundings, making sure not to step in too many puddles and to not splash Saparata on accident either. The rain only lets up slightly during that time, before falling down on them heavier than it had earlier. The sudden change in weather nearly startles Fluixon, who almost jumps, but Saparata grabs his hand with his own free one, holding it tight and letting Fluixon squeeze it as much as he needs.
When they finally get home, Saparata lets Fluixon dry off first. He eyes his partner as he enters the shower while Saparata waits at the kitchen counter, not as wet as Fluixon had been considering he wasn’t in the rain for as long as the other had been. He lets Fluixon borrow his clothes too—specifically the hoodie that was gladly given by Fluixon on his twenty-second birthday and the sweatpants Fluixon always steals right before Saparata has any major sports events the next day—giving him space to change in private as he walks into the bathroom to dry off the small damp patches of his hair.
While Fluixon waits for Saparata to get out so he can grab his glasses, which he idiotically forgot on the bathroom sink, he pads over to the kitchen and rummages through the cabinets, finding a pack of Skittles—the yogurt ones, the ones he knows Saparata loves—and a depressing, nearly-empty tin of saltine crackers.
He debates whether he should take the Skittles—they aren’t his, and he isn’t that cruel to the point of taking his lover’s food after all he’s done for him today, so he instead waits again, sitting on the couch cross-legged while scrolling through his phone, reading New Kids’ and Seraphim’s messages asking whether he got home safely and replying with a mere thumbs up emoji before going onto his social medias.
It doesn’t take long for Saparata to come out of the shower, wearing something as equally warm and comfortable as Fluixon’s attire before sitting down beside him, back against his lover’s left arm as he leans on him, scrolling through his phone as well, paying no mind to Fluixon. The white-haired student smells faintly of cinnamon and chocolate, meaning he probably baked something earlier before he went out to bring Fluixon home. Fluixon has half a mind to ask what he baked, but he doesn’t really feel like eating something heavy at the moment, so he instead adjusts his position, moving Saparata’s head onto his lap so he can lie down more comfortably. The only reaction he gets from Saparata is a slight blush, but otherwise, he seems completely content to stay there as his lover's fingers card through his soft and slightly damp hair.
At one point, Saparata’s too focused on his phone that he doesn’t notice how Fluixon’s head starts to loll to the left a little and his breaths grow more even and slightly louder as it always does when he snores (Fluixon does not snore, he swears, yet every night, just as they’re about to sleep, Saparata can hear a sound akin to purring. Fluixon would always deny it whenever confronted, though.) and that’s when he notices that Fluixon is asleep. He pulls himself off of the other to sit up beside him, then grabs Fluixon’s phone, which is dangling off the edge of the couch, and places it on the coffee table beside his own, before handling Fluixon and make him lie down on top of him, face pressed against Saparata’s neck, his still wet hair cold against Saparata’s usually warm skin. Saparata lets himself drift off as well, finding comfort in the way Fluixon curls up against him.