Chapter Text
June
Rain.
He can’t focus unless it rains.
He misses his home, in Hasetsu, where you could see the sky no matter where you went. Just look up, and it was there.
Sometimes, when he doesn’t feel like going to school, instead of getting on the connecting train after the first stop, he’ll consider going to the garden.
However, garden days are reserved for only certain mornings. Most of the time, he sighs, takes a moment to inhale a deep, tired breath, then darts into the last train car at the last possible second, right before the automatic doors shut close.
He’ll listen to the rattle of the tracks without really noticing the chattering of those around him, the press of someone’s elbow in his back, the natural light flickering in through the window, swallowed every now and then by a dark tunnel. He’ll stare at nothing for the duration of the trip, and wish for something to happen in his life, something that, as a lackluster figure skater in his early twenties, he can’t put his finger on just yet.
Most of the time.
Sometimes, he wakes up to rain.
These are the days he likes best.
Today is one of these days.
He wakes up to the faint pitter pattering of water hitting his window, tracing faint lines of life across the glass. He watches the little droplets bump into other clusters of water, become one, then continue their trek down his window together.
If he’s being honest, it’s one of the best things in the whole wide world, waking up to rain. He nearly leaps out of bed, unable to contain the happy smile that spreads across his face. For the first time in months, he feels something stir inside him, dormant in the cold winter months, but alive and well now that it has been watered and given life by the beginning of Tokyo’s rainy season.
Strange, how a little rain can make him feel.
He watches the train that usually takes him to campus speed away with a resounding whoosh, leaving behind a few stragglers on the platform and a few flying coffee cups. When the rush of air dies away, he starts walking through the streets of the city, a little spring in his step, his umbrella held close to his body, as if he were sharing a little secret.
I should be somewhere else right now.
He ignores the others who are leaving the park, trying to escape the drops of water plipping down from the trees above.
I should be somewhere else right now.
Birds singing. Rainy breeze touching his cheeks.
He’s at the entrance now. He slots some change into the meter at the gate, then makes his way across the familiar stone path, avoiding the little puddles that reveal little patches of wavering sky.
I should be somewhere else right now.
He crosses the wooden bridge that spans across the water, now empty of other park goers due to the rain, his footsteps echoing on the water beneath the slick wood. He comes across to the usual spot, a little overhanging alcove near the edge of the large pond, just one of many that reside in the garden.
To his surprise, he sees another person there, silver hair blowing ever so slightly with the wind, head hunched over a book.
Even from this distance, he can see a slight curve gracing the stranger’s lips, and his fingers are drumming slightly on the grip of his book. His foot is tapping ever so softly on the wooden floor, inaudible against the noise of the rain. But he takes in the sight of his movements, as graceful and gentle as the branches that sway in the wind, enclosing the gazebo with their dripping leaves. Like he’s dancing to music only he can hear.
I should be nowhere else but here right now Katsuki Yuuri, age 23, lost in the mediocrity of his own life, thinks, as he watches the stranger.
Said stranger looks up from his book. His foot ceases its dance for a moment. His fingers still.
Their eyes meet, and the trees watch in amusement as surprise flickers through both pairs.
One pair of blue, for being seen when they did not know they were being watched.
One pair of brown, for being caught watching.
Time stills for a moment.
“Hello,” says the stranger.
He has a nice voice, Yuuri thinks. Quiet, yet pleasantly so. Resonating, yet not overwhelming.
It’s like the summer rain.
Yuuri blinks, and time seems to restart.
The man pats the little bench that stretches around the perimeter of the alcove welcomingly, inviting him to sit with a quiet hum, then returns to reading his book.
“Excuse me,” Yuuri mumbles, sliding as nonchalantly as possible into the bench. He closes his umbrella as the stranger scoots over a little, despite the fact that there is plenty of room for at least three other people. After a few seconds of awkward shifting and fidgeting, Yuuri decides to not think too much about it, and begins to unpack his bag. He removes a small iPod with a pair of earbuds attached, a pencil, and a notebook. He flips to a certain page, marked with little notes that read triple Salchow, sit spin, step sequence, quadruple flip (?) in neat, capital letters, and places his earbuds in his ears, but does not start the music. Instead, he looks at the little ripples that the rain makes in the pond, hears the little splashes they make, the occasional chirping of the birds.
He makes little doodles with his pencil, staring intently at the messy trails of graphite. A drop of water from above hits the middle of the page, smearing his notes.
He hears humming. He looks up in surprise at the stranger, who is still reading their book.
Stay Close to Me reads the cover. The stranger continues to hum as he brings a can of- is that beer? to their lips. (Yuuri could’ve sworn that there was an explicit warning at the entrance against alcohol). They only pause when they snap a little square of chocolate off the corner of a candy bar and pop it into their mouth thoughtfully. Beer and…chocolate? They turn a page of their book, then continue humming. The song is a relatively simple one, yet strangely familiar. Yuuri wonders if he’s heard it before.
Now that he has a good look at him, the stranger is very attractive, with his smiling eyes and dancing fingers and broad forehead. His hair is an intriguing shade of silver-grey that Yuuri has never seen before.
After realizing that he’s staring for longer than appropriate, Yuuri shakes the faint blush off his cheeks and goes back to his notebook, pushing play on his iPod. He pays no more heed to the stranger. He came here to have a quiet place to think, after all, not ogle at mysteriously attractive men.
As the familiar music starts, Yuuri makes another fruitless attempt to grasp at the meaning behind the notes, but it’s like water running through his fingers. He still does not know how to express this emotion in his movements on the ice, how to let the audience know what it’s like to simply sit on a quiet park bench with a stranger and then and enjoy the rain together. He wonders if his coach could give him any pointers on this, then shakes the thought off fairly quickly. Celestino is a great coach, able to provide useful advice whenever he’s just not landing his jumps right, but there’s something missing. Something that no amount of coaching can provide him.
Which is why he’s sitting on a gazebo park bench in the middle on a rainy morning, attempting to find meaning in his faltering figure skating career, when he should be in first period, listening to Minako-sensei gripe at the other students about taking selfies in class and giving another one of her famous lectures on the importance of a good ole’-fashioned liberal arts education. Yuuri knows that he’s going to get an earful from her later for skipping class. Hopefully she’ll understand his need for some peace and quiet, especially since competition season is coming up. Hopefully.
While he muses, his pencil remains idle in his slack hand, the tip ghosting across his notebook. One earbud falls out as he leans his head against one of the wooden beams holding up the gazebo, but Yuuri does not notice. The song, being the only one in his playlist, ends uneventfully, and he hears the stranger humming that odd melody again. It weaves itself among the notes of softly falling rain, and Yuuri lets out a quiet breath into the damp air, shifting his notebook on his lap.
He drops his eraser. It hits the ground with a little bounce, rises up, hits the ground, rises up again. It lands in another’s hand. Yuuri looks up in surprise, glasses slipping slightly off his nose.
“Here,” says the stranger, offering it to him. He wears a friendly smile.
Yuuri leans a little out of his seat to take it from him. Their fingers brush momentarily. The other’s hand is warm. “Thanks.”
The stranger nods and goes back to reading their book, humming quietly again. Yuuri begins to drift off, lulled into sleep by the comfort of the abandoned garden and the quiet voice of someone like him, someone who doesn't mind being out in the rain. Maybe even someone who is as lost as Yuuri.
This is nice he thinks to himself sleepily. I really need to ask the name of that song…
After a time, he wakes up with a jolt, and realizes that the stranger is gone. A quick look at his watch tells him that he had been asleep for much longer than originally anticipated, and he rushes to stuff his possessions in his damp bag.
He hops off the small wooden platform and starts running, picking speed as he dashes through the trees, his clear umbrella now folded closed and snapping against the ground every few feet, his bag bouncing on his knees. He nearly jumps the fence at the exit of the garden, wondering, almost laughing, about how he’s going to hear it from Minako-sensei when he’s late for the nth time this month.
With one last glance back at the garden entrance, he feels a small smile make its way to his lips. I’ll be back he thinks, a silent promise to the sky above. Strangely, it feels like it will not be the last time Yuuri will see the silver-haired man or hear his lullaby.
The rain has stopped.
Back in the garden, the last traces of water trickle off in little rivulets, gently tapping the roof of a certain shady nook near the water, nearly hidden from the rest of the world.
He can still hear the other’s music, coupled with the quiet melody of silence, and he knows that he will return.
All there’s left to do is wait for the rain.