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It's raining outside. You have never liked when it rains. It's a weird—stupid even—preference since you were born in a land where it rains all the time.
A slender strand of smoke sways over your teacup. You watch it, then take a sip. It warms you up a bit.
The waterdrops knock on your window panes, merrily and insistently. You find it noisy, but you desire it.
It's the sound of his coming, after all.
It's raining tonight, and you're waiting for his arrival. Like other rainy days.
Actually, it's not just rainy days. You are always waiting for him. But he never comes when it doesn't rain. Even cloudy days don't qualify.
He has his own schedule, you tell yourself. He always has people to meet, things to do, and promises to make. Kisses to give. Never to you, though.
It's okay. You are not sad. He has already extended his hands to you, and it is more than almost everyone will do for you these days. You cannot even blame them. You brought it upon yourself with your horrible choice and indecision, after all.
You hear the sound of fire flaring up, and then, embraced by warm, bright light, he steps into your room.
"How are you today?" He smiles, taking off his coat.
You stand up to help him put his coat aside. You can call a house elf to do this. You can let him do it himself, even. But you are so desperate for a chance to be close to him that you cannot help but steal the job.
"Nothing unusual." You hang his coat on a rack, reminding yourself that burying your face in your guest's clothes is impolite. "How about you?"
"A bit cold. I'm drenched." He picks up the teacup you were drinking from and takes a sip. "You always brew the best tea."
There isn't any trace of water on his coat. You wonder if he had spelt them all away before coming.
You sit down in front of him and pour another cup of tea for yourself. "You should come tomorrow. A new type of tea is supposed to arrived by then. It's said to be ten times better than this."
"Let me see," he humms, putting the teacup down.
No one knows if tomorrow will be rainy.
You don't mind. It has been raining all weeks. Tomorrow may not be different.
You two watch the rain hitting leaves and flowers in silence. You are worried that when this rain ends, you will have to rebuild your garden. You doubt the plants would survive the rain's treatment.
"When will these rains end? I'm sick of them," he suddently speaks.
You flinch. But you have been with him long enough to learn to cover your expressions up.
"I thought you like to go out on rainy days," you joke. Maybe you aren't joking.
He shakes his head. "I don't. It's cold, I just want to rest."
Then why are you only here on rainy days? Why are you never coming to me when it's sunny? What do you think seeing me in this weather?
Are you sick of me?
You don't say any of them out loud. You cannot afford the consequence of that action.
It takes you three minutes to finally say something. "Then rest."
A smile blooms on his lips, as if he has waited his whole life to hear it. You are afraid your imagination has gotten too active in the silence of a house with only you and some house elves.
He holds out his hand to you. "You always have the best ideas."
Somehow, your eyes are blurry. You blink a few times. It returns to normal.
"You should know that sooner." You put your hand on his and fall into his arms.
The rain is heavy tonight. There are still several hours until it ends.
You hope so.