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Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop.
It began as a tiny patter. A stray drop hit Tobi’s face, a warning shot from the clouds. Glancing up, he saw pale gray rather than azure. A cold breeze flew past. Tobi’s lips tightened around his cigarette.
Fuchi, walking beside him, followed his gaze. “How far away are we?”
“Twenty minutes, if we take the bus,” Tobi said.
The two picked up their pace to a brisk stroll. Tobi had come this far to pick up Fuchi from the train station. They were going to reach his apartment, bad weather be damned.
Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop.
The drops fell faster, leaving behind small, dark craters in their wake. Umbrellas were sprouting up from the crowds of people, forming a colorful meadow of flowers against the drab gray.
He took another drag of his cigarette as they walked. The smoke was whisked away by the cold air, vanishing into a slate-gray sky. The chill reached Tobi’s hands; he wished he had brought his gloves. The tiny ember of his cigarette did nothing against the cold.
Tobi glanced towards his friend—he seemed to be shivering. “You didn’t wear a jacket,” he observed.
”No,” Fuchi said sheepishly. “I didn’t check the weather…”
Tobi stored his cigarette in his lips, fumbling around with his jacket. “Wear this,” he said, then shoved it into Fuchi’s hands.
Fuchi nearly dropped the jacket. “Eh?” he squeaked. “Really?”
Tobi stared dead forward, his silence filling in for his answer.
Fuchi obliged and wore the jacket—or rather, attempted to. It was far smaller than he was, the ends of the sleeves reaching halfway up his forearms. The feat of putting it on was only made possible by his skinny frame.
Tobi glanced over when Fuchi finally managed to wiggle into it. His jacket was jet-black, the inside coated with amber. It was far too small and clashed with the yellow of Fuchi’s hoodie. Despite that, it looked nice on him. Cute, even. Tobi did not communicate either of those thoughts. He locked his gaze in front of him and pressed forward.
Eventually, they reached the bus station—a slanted roof that leaned over a bench, just a thin strip of sidewalk away from the road. Any inch of available space beneath the roof had been taken.
“Over here?” Fuchi said, gesturing towards the edge of the station.
“Sure.” Tobi followed after him. They stood there, side by side.
Thunder rumbled in the distance like the growl of a predator ready to strike. Tobi grabbed his umbrella from his backpack. He held it as if it were the holster of a gun, ready to whip it out at any moment. Beside him, Fuchi stiffened.
Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop.
The light drizzle continued. They waited in silence. Tobi puffed out smoke. Fuchi brought his phone out, hands quivering as he held it.
Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop.
The sky suddenly darkened, but the rain remained quiet as ever. Tobi was no meteorologist, but that seemed bad. His eyes darted upwards. The clouds were large and black, as if swelling with water.
Drip. Drop. Drip—
The invisible dam holding back the storm broke.
—Crash.
Without a moment’s notice, the downpour hit. The clouds burst open like giant water balloons. In an instant, the streets became a concrete seafloor. Waves sloshed across the pavement, whirlpools swirling around storm drains. Waterfalls crashed down from gutters. Rain soaked every surface, darkening the stone like a layer of black paint.
Fuchi yelped, the phone in his hands slipping free. It flipped around in the air like a wet fish. Tobi leaped into action. His hand shot forward and grabbed the phone, saving it from death by soaked sidewalk. At the same time, the cigarette in his mouth slipped free, exchanging its life for the phone—an unfortunate sacrifice, but a necessary one.
“Here.” Tobi offered the device back to Fuchi, angling it away from the relentless rain.
“Sorry,” Fuchi gasped, taking it with trembling fingers. He cradled the phone to his chest as if it were a child he had almost lost.
Tobi immediately got to work with the umbrella, pushing it open. He brought the shield above both of them. Raindrops hammered its black shell like an endless wave of arrows.
“That was fast,” Fuchi exclaimed, panting for breath. He wiped the moisture off his phone with a sleeve, then hid it in the safety of his pocket.
Tobi stared down at the corpse of the cigarette, its ashen blood getting washed away in the rain. It was a shame, but he returned his eyes to the higher priority: Fuchi. “Is your phone okay?” Tobi asked.
Rumble. Thunder echoed in the distance.
Fuchi nearly jumped. “Yeah!” he said, voice high-pitched. “Thanks.”
Tobi studied him from the corner of his eye. “Of course.”
They lapsed back into silence. The rain kept hurtling down, drowning out the noise of the city. An earthy smell was carried by the strong winds. Car headlights flashed into life, cutting through the veil of water. To their side, the people sheltered under the roof huddled closer together. The bus was yet to be seen.
Tobi’s eyes soon wandered back to his friend. Fuchi, being as tall as he was, had awkwardly hunched over to fit beneath the umbrella. Tobi raised his arm higher, but it still wasn’t right. No—Fuchi had shuffled away from him. He was only halfway under the umbrella. A whole arm was being subjected to the rain for no reason.
“You’re going to get wet if you keep standing there,” Tobi pointed out.
Fuchi smiled, but it was different. Forced. “Aha. You’re right,” Fuchi said, shifting closer. Now only half a shoulder was being rained on. Not good enough.
Tobi’s eyes narrowed. Fuchi was staring off to the side, thus hiding his face—but that didn’t hide the fidgeting of his hands.
“It’s okay to come closer, you know,” Tobi said.
“Um. Okay,” Fuchi responded, but didn’t budge an inch.
Tobi’s hand twitched, almost swinging out towards Fuchi—he stopped it before it completed its course. There was no need for that right now. Jaw clenching, he waited. One second. Two seconds. Three. Any minute now, the bus would arrive.
Boom! There was a sudden snap of lightning, like the cracking of a whip. The world flashed with blinding light. Fuchi flinched, a strangled squeak escaping his mouth. The noise was almost silent over the drumming of the rain, but Tobi’s sharp hearing picked up on it.
He looked over. Fuchi was trembling now. With the jacket Tobi had given him, it could not be from the cold. Tobi resisted the urge to pull him into a hug, then squeeze him so hard that whatever bad emotions he was feeling would fly out into the rain.
Water kept pouring down. By now, the storm had fully set in; lightning kept coming, round after round. Bang! Crackle! Snap! Each time, Fuchi flinched. His hands curled into fists; his lips pressed together; his body quivered. Tobi gritted his teeth together. He was a great lesson in self-restraint right now.
Boom! Another flash. Fuchi inhaled sharply, taking one step in Tobi’s direction—only to immediately scramble away. This pattern repeated. He jerked closer, then stepped back. His breathing sped up. Again—closer, away. Closer, away. Closer, away. His eyes darted around rapidly, but never towards Tobi’s direction. Was there some invisible barrier between them that Tobi couldn’t see?
This had gone on for long enough.
“Fuchi,” Tobi said, voice even.
Fuchi jolted. “Yeah?” he said, sounding like he had inhaled helium.
Tobi reached out, curled his fingers around Fuchi’s wrist, and tugged him closer.
The change was immediate. Fuchi stiffened, breath hitching. Tobi did not let go. His hold was steady—weak enough that Fuchi could easily break free, but strong enough to keep a good hold on him.
“Sorry,” Fuchi stammered.
Tobi’s voice softened. “Is it better like this?”
“Yeah,” Fuchi said. “It’s just—” He stopped, drawing in a shaky breath, but said nothing more.
The rain fell. Neither of them looked at each other.
“Are you scared of lightning?” Tobi murmured, breaking the silence.
Fuchi froze. “No,” he mumbled after a pause. “Or, well, I used to be.”
Tobi’s fingers tightened around his wrist.
“When I was young, my dad always yelled at me when I freaked out about it,” Fuchi muttered. “That’s why.”
“Your dad sounds terrible.”
“He was.”
Tobi glanced up. Fuchi’s eyes looked dead, like an empty, pitch-black abyss. It was as if his soul had been taken out of his body and transported back in time. Silently, Tobi’s hand crawled lower down Fuchi’s wrist. He squeezed the whole of Fuchi’s hand.
It worked. Fuchi was ripped out of the past. He looked down at Tobi, mouth parting.
Tobi’s eyes remained glued in front of him. Gently, he pushed at the seams of Fuchi’s fingers with his own. Once Fuchi’s hand was pried open, he slipped through the now-available gaps. Their hands interlocked together.
This was right—indescribably right. They slotted into each other like two puzzle pieces. Fuchi’s warmer, larger hand balanced against Tobi’s colder, smaller one. They were yin and yang put together.
Slowly, Fuchi’s fingers curled up, completing the embrace of their hands. Something warm and fuzzy took root in Tobi’s chest.
Together, they waited. Under the umbrella was a warm bubble of safety, an oasis amid the fierce storm. If their hands remained intertwined, they would not be swept away by the rain.
The bus hadn’t arrived yet. Tobi prayed that it would never come.
Boom! Lightning exploded against the black sky. Fuchi clung onto him tighter, shuffling closer until their sides pressed flush against each other. Tobi’s heart leapt into his throat.
“If I ever tried doing anything like this with him, he’d get mad,” Fuchi said, barely audible over the rain.
Tobi glanced up. “Is that why you didn’t want to get close to me?”
“Yeah. Well—” Fuchi gulped. “…Kind of.”
“Kind of?”
Fuchi flushed. “Nevermind,” he mumbled, eyes dropping to the ground.
From the corner of his eye, Tobi admired Fuchi’s face. His cheeks were like a rose in the sea of gray surrounding them. Tobi committed the scene to memory—his jacket enveloping Fuchi, the heat of their bodies pressing together, the red staining Fuchi’s face. What he cherished the most, however, was the connection of their hands.
“I would do this for you,” Tobi said softly. “No matter what.”
Fuchi smiled. It was a small, fragile thing, but it was a smile nonetheless—Tobi’s heart swelled with joy at the sight.
“Thanks,” Fuchi said.
Tobi gently squeezed his hand.
When the bus arrived, Tobi did not want to let go. Neither did Fuchi, apparently.
The rest of the journey was spent with one of Tobi’s hands freezing cold, and the other very, very warm.