Categories > Anime/Manga > Yami no Matsuei
It almost never rains in Meifu.
He's still not exactly sure why or how the weather on earth affects the weather there, but it's rare that it does. Rainy days or stifling summer heat are the exception; most of the time it's balmy sunshine and sakura petals all year round, enough to give someone a reverse case of SAD. Even Tsuzuki, who Hisoka at first would have expected to love it, doesn't like it, because it's artificial. Even the sunshine, he says, becomes humdrum when every day is the same as the one before.
Hisoka just likes the rain.
He opens up the window in their small hotel room so he can hear it, smell it. The rain beats rhythmically down on the pavement, a fine mist rising from the ground and from the objects it strikes. Water pours from the drainspouts and drips from leaves in counterpoint to the steady patter, and now and then some hurried footsteps will make their way down the sidewalk, or a car will whoosh down the street, its noisy spray of water disrupting the quiet music of the rainfall.
Now an unhurried set of footsteps is passing by the window, thoughts of chocolate covered cream puffs dancing at the edges of Hisoka's awareness. The sound of the steps fades out, leaving only the murmur of the rain, and fades back in a few minutes later, out in the hallway. Hisoka turns as he hears the door open.
Tsuzuki is /drenched/. His wet hair is plastered to his head; his soaked suit is clinging to him. Rainwater drips from his nose, his chin, and everywhere else, getting all over the carpet. In one hand he clutches his prize: a bag from the little bakery they passed earlier, no doubt containing the chocolate covered cream puffs he was thinking about.
"It's raining a little harder than I thought," Tsuzuki says brightly, not the least bit concerned about his soggy state or the water dripping from his hair and sliding down his cheeks like saltless tears. After a moment (and a pointed look from Hisoka) he remembers to shut the door behind him, then puts the bag down on the table and peels off his suit jacket as he walks further into the room.
The shirt underneath the jacket is soaked too, translucent and sticking to his skin. Tsuzuki drops the wet jacket on the floor, and Hisoka, already drifting across the room toward Tsuzuki, bends to pick it up, giving him another look.
"You'll get the carpet all wet. Hang them up on the shower curtain rod."
Tsuzuki makes a noise of assent and plucks the garment from Hisoka's hands... and drops it again, snaking his arms around Hisoka's waist and pulling him in close with an ingenuous smile.
"Hey! You'll get my clothes all wet too." He can already feel the chill rainwater soaking through his t-shirt.
"You could take them off," Tsuzuki suggests guilelessly, and Hisoka doesn't have a chance to answer, because Tsuzuki bends his head down and kisses him, and his mouth tastes like rain.
Later, lying in Tsuzuki's arms and listening to the whispers of the rain, he remembers the wet clothes on the floor, but he can't be bothered to do anything about them.
He's still not exactly sure why or how the weather on earth affects the weather there, but it's rare that it does. Rainy days or stifling summer heat are the exception; most of the time it's balmy sunshine and sakura petals all year round, enough to give someone a reverse case of SAD. Even Tsuzuki, who Hisoka at first would have expected to love it, doesn't like it, because it's artificial. Even the sunshine, he says, becomes humdrum when every day is the same as the one before.
Hisoka just likes the rain.
He opens up the window in their small hotel room so he can hear it, smell it. The rain beats rhythmically down on the pavement, a fine mist rising from the ground and from the objects it strikes. Water pours from the drainspouts and drips from leaves in counterpoint to the steady patter, and now and then some hurried footsteps will make their way down the sidewalk, or a car will whoosh down the street, its noisy spray of water disrupting the quiet music of the rainfall.
Now an unhurried set of footsteps is passing by the window, thoughts of chocolate covered cream puffs dancing at the edges of Hisoka's awareness. The sound of the steps fades out, leaving only the murmur of the rain, and fades back in a few minutes later, out in the hallway. Hisoka turns as he hears the door open.
Tsuzuki is /drenched/. His wet hair is plastered to his head; his soaked suit is clinging to him. Rainwater drips from his nose, his chin, and everywhere else, getting all over the carpet. In one hand he clutches his prize: a bag from the little bakery they passed earlier, no doubt containing the chocolate covered cream puffs he was thinking about.
"It's raining a little harder than I thought," Tsuzuki says brightly, not the least bit concerned about his soggy state or the water dripping from his hair and sliding down his cheeks like saltless tears. After a moment (and a pointed look from Hisoka) he remembers to shut the door behind him, then puts the bag down on the table and peels off his suit jacket as he walks further into the room.
The shirt underneath the jacket is soaked too, translucent and sticking to his skin. Tsuzuki drops the wet jacket on the floor, and Hisoka, already drifting across the room toward Tsuzuki, bends to pick it up, giving him another look.
"You'll get the carpet all wet. Hang them up on the shower curtain rod."
Tsuzuki makes a noise of assent and plucks the garment from Hisoka's hands... and drops it again, snaking his arms around Hisoka's waist and pulling him in close with an ingenuous smile.
"Hey! You'll get my clothes all wet too." He can already feel the chill rainwater soaking through his t-shirt.
"You could take them off," Tsuzuki suggests guilelessly, and Hisoka doesn't have a chance to answer, because Tsuzuki bends his head down and kisses him, and his mouth tastes like rain.
Later, lying in Tsuzuki's arms and listening to the whispers of the rain, he remembers the wet clothes on the floor, but he can't be bothered to do anything about them.
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