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A light patter sounded against the roof, and Tighnari glanced toward the window.
The sky, still faintly bright with the approach of evening, was covered in dull clouds that had not quite turned gray. From them, a fine rain had begun to fall, quiet and thin as silk thread.
“...It’s rare to see rain like this.”
The words slipped out before he knew it.
In Sumeru, rain seldom fell so gently. More often, black clouds would billow up without warning, and the moment one noticed them, it would be as though the bottom had dropped out of the sky. Water would come pouring down in sheets, drowning the roads, the people, and every surrounding sound alike—only to stop just as abruptly once one had finally grown exasperated, leaving behind a sky so clear it seemed nothing had happened at all.
“Let me see.”
Cyno came to stand beside him at the window and looked up.
“Ah. You’re right. Perhaps because autumn is nearly here.”
Tighnari nodded. “Yes. It’s the change of seasons. I suppose this kind of rain does happen now and then.”
When Cyno fell silent, still gazing outside as if deep in thought, Tighnari sensed danger and quickly stepped away from the window. Then he headed straight for the kitchen.
He was almost certainly thinking up some terrible pun.
“Cyno, may I start making dinner?” Tighnari asked over his shoulder as he slipped the strap of his apron over his neck.
When he heard an “All right” from behind him, he opened the lid of the woven basket where they kept their provisions.
It was still rather early for dinner, but until yesterday he had spent every spare moment working on a paper whose deadline was far too close, barely sleeping at all. Since it was his day off, he had ended up sleeping well past noon. He had still felt vaguely tired and had not had much of an appetite, so he had skipped lunch entirely.
Now, as a result, he was terribly hungry.
He took out eggs and ham and set them on the counter. From the cupboard beneath it, he retrieved a bottle of oil and the rice container.
Now, what else was it?
Tighnari tilted his head slightly.
Tonight, he had decided to try making an unfamiliar rice dish from Liyue, using a recipe Kaveh had given him the other day. It had started when Tighnari had complained over tea that Cyno insisted on eating the same dish night after night after night.
“Ah, yes. A housemate’s picky eating habits really are a serious problem,” Kaveh had said, nodding with an expression of heartfelt sympathy. “We’re the same. Almost every time we decide what to make for dinner, it turns into an argument.”
Knowing full well that Kaveh and his housemate argued every day over matters far beyond dinner, Tighnari had been sorely tempted to comment, but wisely restrained himself.
“Cyno’s favorite is tahchin, isn’t it?” Kaveh said, rummaging through his bag and taking out a notebook. “In that case, if it’s a rice dish, maybe he’ll eat it without complaining.”
As Tighnari watched, Kaveh quickly wrote something down, tore the page from the notebook, and handed it to him.
“This is a recipe I learned from the client at my current construction site. They’re from Liyue, so it’s a foreign dish for us, but I’d never had rice prepared quite like this before. It was very good.”
Tighnari accepted the recipe and skimmed through it. The method was certainly unusual, but the steps did not look especially difficult. It did not require any particularly special ingredients either. It seemed worth trying.
“Thank you, Kaveh. I’ll give it a try soon.”
That had been last week.
The night before, fighting back sleep, Tighnari had spent a very long time negotiating for the right to make absolutely anything other than tahchin today. Since Cyno knew he would be trying a new recipe for the first time, he came to peer into the kitchen with obvious interest.
“By the way,” Cyno said, leaning in to look at the recipe in Tighnari’s hand, “what is this Liyue-style dish called?”
“Let’s see. It says... ‘scallion fried rice,’ apparently.”
Tighnari’s ears twitched as he tilted his head.
...Scallions.
Do we have any?
“If it is called scallion fried rice,” Cyno said, “then I assume it contains scallions.”
“Yes. Generally, I imagine it would,” Tighnari answered while looking through the woven basket.
Scallions. Scallions.
“...None.”
Tighnari blinked.
No matter how many times he rummaged through the basket, there were no scallions. He had been so occupied with that paper all week that he had not had time to go shopping, or even to cook properly. Apparently, he had not noticed they had run out.
With a small sigh, Tighnari took out an onion instead.
“I’ll have to use onion, then.”
Unfortunately, this was precisely the sort of thing Cyno could not let pass.
“The defining ingredient in scallion fried rice is the scallion, is it not? Wouldn’t it be a problem if it were missing?”
“No...” Tighnari said. “I think the defining ingredient is the rice.”
Cyno did not back down.
“Besides, if you make scallion fried rice with onion, can it still be called scallion fried rice?” He folded his arms with an air of undue authority and spoke gravely. “I believe it would be more accurate to call it onion fried rice.”
Tighnari let out a deep sigh.
“...I don’t think there’s that much of a difference between scallions and onions.” Slowly, he turned toward Cyno and spoke as if explaining something to a child. “They’re both alliums.”
“Then tell me this.” Cyno took one step closer to him. “If both are cucurbits, would you want to eat pickled watermelon in place of pickled cucumber?”
He pressed on with peculiar stubbornness.
“Would you put pickled melon in a hamburger?”
“No, that’s completely different—”
“No. It is not.” Cyno refused to withdraw his argument. “If both are nightshades, would you use potatoes as a spice in place of chili peppers? If both are in the rose family—”
“Fine! All right, I get it!”
Tighnari threw up both hands, cutting off the interrogation.
“I’ll go buy scallions! Is that what you wanted?”
Cyno nodded, looking satisfied.
“Yes. That will do.”
The rain showed no sign of stopping. It continued to fall, quiet and steady.
Tighnari let out a deep sigh, took off his apron, and opened the storage closet.
Where had he put the umbrella...?
There was no such thing as an umbrella stand by the entrance. Umbrellas were of little use against the rain in this country. If one opened one under that kind of watery assault, both the umbrella and the person holding it would be ruined. In Sumeru, the sensible response to rain was to take shelter under the nearest roof and wait until it passed.
But, on very rare occasions, there were days like this.
That is why I do keep one, just in case. But where in the world did I put it...?
As he searched with no idea where to look, his hunger only made him more and more irritable. Holding back the urge to throw a tantrum, Tighnari rummaged through the depths of the closet until he finally found the umbrella tucked away in the very back and dragged it out.
“Did you find mine as well?” Cyno asked from behind him.
“What?”
Tighnari turned around with a frown.
“Why would you need yours?”
“I’m going too,” Cyno replied, as if it were obvious. “To buy scallions.”
Tighnari summoned every last bit of his patience and suppressed the urge to retort. Then he turned toward Cyno and smiled very slowly.
“Cyno,” he began, wearing a smile that was already beginning to strain. “We are going to buy scallions. From the greengrocer down the street. Do you understand? Scallions.”
Cyno nodded. “Yes. Scallions.”
“This is not the sort of errand that requires two people to carry everything, is it?” Tighnari continued, maintaining his smile through sheer effort. “Nor are we going to buy anything particularly exciting, correct?”
Cyno nodded again. “Correct. They are scallions.”
Tighnari pressed a hand to his forehead and took a deep breath.
He could feel the fatigue of the past week, his empty stomach, the dusty air of the closet, and the sheer immovability of an argument with Cyno grinding steadily away at his patience.
“Then there’s no need for both of us to go!” Tighnari finally raised his voice. “I’ll go by myself, get them, and come straight back!”
Cyno’s expression turned sullen.
He stared at Tighnari in stubborn silence for a while. At the end of that silence, however, he said, “...Even so, I’m going.”
At that point, Tighnari felt something inside him give up.
He held out the umbrella he had found and looked at Cyno with deadened eyes.
“Then you go buy them. I’ll stay here and cook the rice.”
Cyno looked back and forth between the umbrella and Tighnari’s face, then tilted his head slightly.
“How many hours do you think it would take me to select the optimal stalk from the mountain of scallions piled in front of the greengrocer, buy it, and return on my own?”
Tighnari fell silent.
“...If you made it back today, it would be a miracle.”
“You do understand,” Cyno said with a nod. “In that case, we should go together. Find my umbrella as well.”
Tighnari’s shoulders slumped.
The two of them walked side by side, each holding an umbrella, making their way toward the greengrocer through the soft rain.
It was still faintly light outside. Avoiding the busy main street, they took the quiet footpath that ran behind the park. Perhaps because of the weather, there was no one else in sight.
Raindrops struck the part of Tighnari’s tail that stuck out from beneath the umbrella, and he grimaced.
Ah. This really is a nuisance...
Seeing his expression, Cyno opened his mouth.
“For your next birthday, should I give you a raincoat for your tail?”
Tighnari looked at him in weary disbelief.
“...Where would they even sell something like that?”
“I don’t know,” Cyno replied with complete seriousness. “But the world is vast. Surely they must sell one somewhere.”
“...And when exactly would I use it?”
“On rainy days like this.”
“Then most of the time, it would end up shoved into the storage closet with the umbrella,” Tighnari said, losing strength as he spoke. “And when the time finally came to use it, we’d have to conduct another full-scale search through the closet, just like we did earlier.”
Cyno thought about this for a moment.
“...Would you prefer a device that can instantly locate whatever you want to find?” he asked, looking at Tighnari’s face. “A storage-closet radar.”
“Oh, look. We’re here.”
Ignoring Cyno’s words, Tighnari entered the shop.
The lanterns hanging at the front glowed a soft orange in the rain. Beneath that light, Tighnari quickly found the scallions, chose one that looked especially fresh, and looked around for the clerk.
Then he spotted Cyno near the front of the shop, being addressed by the shopkeeper while staring intently at one particular point.
In front of him was a pile of large watermelons.
Cyno was fixed on one that was even larger than the rest.
Tighnari had a bad feeling.
“You have a good eye, sir!” the shopkeeper said cheerfully. “Summer is nearly over, after all. You won’t see a watermelon this splendid again until next year!”
“W-wait, Cyno.”
Tighnari hurried over, tugged at Cyno’s shirt, and lowered his voice so the shopkeeper would not hear.
“Don’t let yourself be swayed by sales talk.”
“But he has a point,” Cyno replied, his gaze still fixed on the glossy, enormous watermelon. “This may very well be the last watermelon of the summer.”
Reading the intensity in his eyes, Tighnari pressed a finger to the space between his brows.
“...Since when did you like watermelons that much?”
“I don’t, particularly,” Cyno said, still looking at it. “But I am drawn to the phrase ‘the last of the year.’”
Then, before Tighnari could open his mouth, Cyno turned to the shopkeeper.
“Excuse me.”
Pointing to the magnificent watermelon he had been staring at all this time, he declared in a resolute tone,
“I’ll take this one. The largest one. The last watermelon of the year.”
The watermelon was far too large to fit into the shopping bag. After putting only the scallions inside, Tighnari turned to Cyno.
“Cyno, you’re carrying that absurdly huge thing home, all right?”
“I know.” Cyno gathered the watermelon into both arms. “I will take full responsibility for bringing it back.”
Tighnari let out a small sigh, opened his umbrella, and stepped out of the shop.
Then Cyno called after him.
“Wait.”
When Tighnari turned around, Cyno, still holding the watermelon in both arms, said, “In this state, I am unable to hold an umbrella.”
Tighnari said nothing. He simply stared at him for a moment.
...True enough. Carrying it like that, there was no way Cyno could manage one as well.
“...Then will you come under mine?”
At those words, Cyno looked, if only for a moment, faintly pleased.
“I believe that is the optimal solution, given the circumstances.”
The two of them set off again, walking close together beneath a single umbrella.
The rain still fell in a soft, steady drizzle, and the world around them was gradually growing dim.
Since Cyno had been silent for quite some time, Tighnari turned his head slightly toward him, holding the umbrella aloft.
“What is it?”
Cyno seemed to consider something for a while before speaking slowly.
“You know...”
At once, Tighnari had a fairly good idea of what was coming, and began to regret asking.
“...carrying this watermelon makes me feel very... melon-choly.”
Cyno delivered the line with complete seriousness.
“...What exactly does that mean?”
“...It is heavy.”
“You’re the one who insisted on buying it.”
Cyno said nothing. He simply adjusted the watermelon in his arms with great care.
For a moment, Tighnari could only stare at him.
Cyno’s hands were already damp from the rain. To keep the smooth rind from slipping, he had both arms wrapped around it with almost solemn concentration, as if transporting something far more precious than a watermelon he had insisted on buying himself.
Then, little by little, the sheer absurdity of it all began to overtake Tighnari’s irritation.
Ah... this is ridiculous.
I had to come out into the rain just to buy a single scallion. One shoulder is half soaked, my tail is damp and thoroughly uncomfortable, and on top of that there’s this gigantic watermelon... How are we even supposed to finish it?
And yet, for some reason, the more he thought about it, the harder it became to stay annoyed.
As expected, there was still no one else on the dim footpath besides the two of them. Trumpet vine wound around the fence that separated the walkway from the park, its vivid orange blossoms glowing in the deepening dusk.
Looking at them, Tighnari thought,
Ah... these flowers may be the last of the year, too...
A small smile touched his lips.
Under the same umbrella, Cyno walked awkwardly with the large watermelon in his arms, his shoulder pressed close to Tighnari’s. To keep Tighnari from getting too wet, the shoulder on his other side was left almost entirely outside the umbrella.
How is it that something as simple as walking like this in the rain can feel so happy...?
Still smiling, Tighnari tilted the umbrella ever so slightly toward Cyno.
When Cyno saw the umbrella tilt toward him, his eyes widened slightly, and he turned to look at Tighnari’s profile beside him.
Tighnari kept facing forward without so much as glancing his way. Even so, Cyno noticed at once that the corner of his mouth had curved faintly.
A smile rose naturally to Cyno’s own lips.
He knew very well that insisting on coming along for a shopping trip in the rain had exasperated Tighnari. Even so, he had wanted to go with him.
After all, it was not often that the two of them could walk together through a rare, gentle rain.
Looking at Tighnari’s profile, Cyno murmured silently to himself.
Our time together will not last forever, will it, Tighnari?
I would never let go of your hand of my own accord. Even so, there is no telling when a time may come when we can no longer remain together.
That was why he wanted to hold on to each and every moment, to handle them gently, as something fragile and easily lost. Yet somehow, he never seemed able to convey that properly.
Perhaps his way of speaking was at fault. But that did not mean his mouth would suddenly begin to spin out smooth, pleasing words.
A truly excellent joke, of course, was another matter.
Because the watermelon in his arms blocked his view of his feet, Cyno accidentally stepped into a puddle and soaked one foot.
As he did, he thought,
When we get home, I should first dry Tighnari’s tail properly. Not by rubbing it roughly like last time. Carefully. Gently.
After that, I will help prepare dinner. I find it very difficult to believe that this unknown dish called “scallion fried rice” could possibly be better than tahchin, but if we make it together, that may be pleasant in its own way.
Noticing that Cyno had stepped into a puddle, Tighnari slowed his pace just slightly to match him.
Cyno felt a little pleased all over again, and opened his mouth.
“Tighnari.”
Tighnari turned his face toward him.
This time, Cyno resolved, he would put what he felt into words properly, in a way that would reach him.
Then he continued.
“...Walking with you feels... step-tacular.”
Tighnari fell into a long, thorough silence.
Then he let out a deep sigh.
“...Why do you always have to say things that completely destroy the atmosphere?”
Cyno felt slightly wounded.
“...Did I destroy it?”
Tighnari turned his face away, and smiled where Cyno could not see.
“Yes,” he said with a small nod, looking up at the drops falling from the sky. “Quite thoroughly. Shattered it to pieces.”
Then, sounding amused, he added,
“But I’m sure it will stubbornly come back to life soon enough, so you don’t need to worry.”