"Lena!"

Lena groaned and burrowed her face deeper into the pillow. Under the blanket was a whole sky of safety, the clean scent of laundry mixing with the faint trace of someone's hair left on the pillowcase. If she could, she would sink again, dive into a dreamless sleep, and let the world wake up without her.

"Lena..." The second call was softer, a little coaxing. She was about to smile when—whisk! The blanket was yanked away and a cool draft whipped across her skin.

"Hey!" Lena shot upright, squinting at the light spilling through the curtains. "Why... it's the weekend... why now...?"

Miu stood at the foot of the bed, hands on hips, face bright like fireworks. "Up you get—the sun's out!"

"Then draw the curtains." Lena crawled to the edge of the bed, groping for the blanket, but Miu was faster—she bounced onto one knee and pinned the blanket with it. Lena blinked. "How are you this... put-together at eight-something? Is it Monday or what?"

"It is the weekend!" Miu laughed, leaning in to lift Lena's face in both hands. "Sunny days are rare. It's rained all week. Come out with me."

Lena was still half-asleep, half-irritated—until Miu's mouth brushed hers and put the irritation out like a match. Cool toothpaste, a hint of sweet. Round one to Miu before Lena could bargain.

"Okay, okay... But what are we doing?"

"Breakfast outside. Reading. Then a short walk. I already prepped everything." Miu poked her head into the closet. "Comfy clothes."

"Give me ten minutes to negotiate with my pillow..." Lena began and got a pointed finger.

"Three minutes. Or I confiscate the pillow."

"Good grief." Lena sprang up and disappeared into the closet. "T-shirt, jeans, light jacket, right?"

"Perfect."

⸻

By just before nine they were in the lobby, each with an oversized coffee and a bag of fresh pastries. Miu hefted a compact picnic blanket like a rolled roast. Lena yawned again, but the sight of gold poured over the quiet sidewalk eased her chest. The whole week had been gray.

"Where do we sit?" Miu pointed at a broad patch of grass with few people. "Here?"

"Here is fine." Lena helped spread the blanket. "Today Madam Lee will follow Lady M's commands... until eleven."

"It's nine-thirty and you're aiming for eleven," Miu pouted—and smiled.

The air smelled of wet grass after days of rain, sunlight beading on leaf edges like sugar. Miu sat cross-legged and leaned into Lena's shoulder, opening the pastry box. Lena braced her cup between her knees, tore a corner off an almond croissant, and shut her eyes to savor it. Butter melting, balanced sweet, crumbs dusting the blanket like powdered snow.

"Want to stay till noon?" Lena offered the pastry for Miu to bite.

"Could." Miu's eyes sparkled. "Then we'll do a short trail. There's a lookout over the lake—so pretty."

"Light walk," Lena murmured into Miu's ear. "Also... our bed is very pretty."

"Focus on nature for me," Miu said sternly.

"Nature is sitting right here." Lena pointed. "Name: Miu."

"Shameless driver." Miu laughed and threaded her fingers through Lena's. "Thanks for getting up."

"For you."

They ate and then read. Breeze stroked the nape. Pages fluttered. Sometimes Miu rested her head on Lena's lap and Lena scratched her scalp in lazy little circles. Far-off traffic. Children laughing after butterflies. A long-held frame of peace.

Near eleven they folded the blanket. Miu tucked water and a few granola bars into her backpack. "Let's go."

"Wherever we go, give me your hand," Lena said, holding hers out.

Miu took it at once.

⸻

The trail slipped into a thin grove. End of the rains—the leaves had not fully come back, branches sketched signatures against the sky. But dry sun was dazzling: high blue, light pouring down like honey.

"This stretch was summer lush last time," Miu tiptoed over a root. "Photos looked like Europe."

"Today it's... minimalist forest," Lena chuckled, squeezing her hand. "But there's something here that's evergreen."

"What?"

"You." She nudged. Miu shot her a look, mouth curving anyway.

After ten minutes they stopped at a railing above the water. The wind carried a damp smell from the lake, a cool edge. Miu held the rail; Lena set her chin on Miu's shoulder. They went quiet, listening to the tiny slap of ripples.

"Hey," Miu said, still looking out. "When I was a kid I thought love would be like the movies. Dash through a storm and kiss, snap."

"And now?"

"Now it sounds... like pneumonia." Miu laughed and shook her head. "But fine, it's a fun thought."

"There's no rain," Lena tipped her face up—deep blue, thin silver wisps. "Forecast said this morning would be beautiful."

"True." Miu nodded. "Not until the afternoon..." She stopped. On the horizon a gray smear was already crawling in, bold as ink blooming on blotting paper.

Lena saw it too. She braced her hands and frowned. "Check again."

Miu pulled out her phone. "Huh... it updated. Squall moving in fast. Let's head back to the lot."

"Let's go."

They followed the signs for a loop back. This section was worse—patches of mud not dry yet, mottled like a leopard. Their hands were still linked, but now they held tight.

"Careful," Miu said. No sooner were the words out than—sploot—Lena's foot slid and she pitched forward. Reflex—Miu hauled back... and hauled them both into a soft mudbed. "Ah!"

"Oh, come on!" Lena sat up, hair sprung loose, forearms smeared from wrist to elbow. Cool sludge streaked her skin. She tried to stand just as Miu scrambled up, a dark brown blot on her knee. They looked at each other for one second, and Miu clapped a hand over her mouth, laughing.

"Go on, laugh," Lena said, side-eyeing her, mouth curling anyway. She rose and offered Miu a hand, deliberately planting two muddy handprints on Miu's bare arm. "Fair's fair."

"Hey!" Miu dodged—too late. "Okay then." She backed up, mock glare, then blew out a breath and snorted. "Minimalist forest, mud-slide edition."

"I officially surrender to nature."

They joked their way forward. The sky went dark in a rush. The cloud shook out like a giant's wet blanket—one drop on their hair, two—then the zipper pulled and the rain came down.

"Run?" Miu shouted over the roar.

"Run or not, we're soaked!" Lena yanked her closer, arm around her waist. "Move fast and keep your balance!"

The trail liquefied. Every step dragged a piece of earth. Clothes plastered down; cold water slid at the nape. Miu gritted her teeth and squeezed Lena's hand. Lena bent to her ear. "You okay?"

"Okay!" Miu chattered—and grinned. "Hot shower when we get home!"

"Deal!" Lena coughed lightly, then steadied her again. "Almost there—the lot!"

The lot appeared like a strip of blessed sand. They practically sprinted to the car, flung the doors open, tossed the backpack in, slammed the doors shut. Outside, the rain hammered the roof. Inside, two humans panted, water streaming from sleeves, hair, and cuffs.

Miu tipped her head to the headrest, touched her forehead, and burst into helpless laughter. "Look at us."

Lena laughed too and raked her hands through wet hair. "Heat on."

The engine turned. Warm air crept through the vents. They sat in it, listening to their hearts slow, letting the bad part give way to the strange bliss of surviving—and how ridiculous it was.

Miu turned her face, profile to Lena. Lena was rubbing the bridge of her nose, eyes narrowed from the sting of rain, lips still pink from the cold. In this world of soaked clothes and drying mud at her knees, Miu remembered a childish wish.

"Hey." Her voice was small in the warming car. "When I was little I thought... kissing in the rain must be so romantic."

Lena looked over. "And now?"

"Now it seems... like a good way to get sick." Miu smiled, shaking her head. "Just a silly thought."

Lena watched her for a beat. Then, without a word, she opened her door and stepped into the rain.

"Wait—where are you going!" Miu yelped, following. The rain slapped her face again. Lena came around, opened Miu's door, and held out her hand.

"Come here." Her voice was firm and warm. "We're already drenched. Fifty more drops won't change it. We should not let your wish wash away."

Miu froze for a heartbeat. The rain beaded on her lashes, salty. Then she put her hand in Lena's and let herself be pulled out. They stood close, a few steps from the car, rain sewing white threads in the air.

"No running," Lena warned, nose to nose. "You'll slip. We stand."

"You're crazy," Miu laughed, slid her hand into Lena's wet hair, and held her face. "But I like it."

"Say it," Lena whispered, brow to brow. "What you wanted."

"This." Miu closed her eyes and breathed it against her mouth. "Kiss the person I love in a very heavy rain."

"Okay." Lena smiled and bent.

The kiss met cold first, then warmed. Rain, wet skin, heartbeats louder than the drumming outside. Miu pulled Lena closer; water trickled from hair to neck, slipping into the notch of her collarbone. Lena's palm on her back was so warm the rain could not cool it. They broke for air for a fraction of a second and found each other again by instinct.

"Home," Miu breathed into the rain. "Hot shower."

"Yes." Lena dotted kisses at the corner of her mouth. "And ginger honey tea."

"And..." Miu smiled, noses touching. "Holds."

"Long ones," Lena nodded.

They hurried back into the car and shut the doors with a deeply satisfying clack. Miu trembled with cold but her eyes shone. Lena turned the heat higher and took Miu's hand, rubbing warmth into it. The road home felt shorter.

⸻

Hot water poured over their shoulders like an upside-down storm. Heat spread across sore backs. Lena worked shampoo through Miu's hair, fingers circling, teasing out each tangle. Miu rested her forehead to Lena's shoulder and let out a long, pleased sigh.

"Absolutely ridiculous," she laughed. "I'll remember forever."

"Me too." Lena angled the showerhead off her shoulder and swept Miu's hair back. "Cold?"

"A little. Just enough to remember I'm alive," Miu lifted her face to meet Lena's eyes. "And in love."

Lena didn't answer—she kissed Miu's forehead. "No movie tonight. Tea, blankets, one chapter."

"Then early sleep."

"And... tomorrow we wake late. No one yanks anyone's blanket."

Miu smiled, eyes closed under the water. "What if it's sunny again tomorrow?"

"Then... I draw the curtains."

Miu tapped her chest. "Menace."

"Menace who loves you."

"I know." Miu smiled. "I love you too."

⸻

Night.

Two mugs of ginger honey tea on the table with a few lemon slices afloat. Two towels hanging before a fan, blowing out a pretend sunshine smell. Miu curled under the blanket, head on Lena's thigh, eyelids heavy. Lena turned a page and with her other hand stroked slow lines down Miu's back, tapping a rhythm only they could hear.

"Hey," Miu murmured.

"Mm?"

"Thank you for the rain kiss."

"You're welcome." Lena lowered the book and kissed Miu's hair. "Thank you for dragging me out of bed for the sun."

Miu smiled without opening her eyes. "I'll drag you tomorrow."

"Don't," Lena deadpanned. "I'm sleeping."

"No." Miu's voice sank, dreamy and certain. "Tomorrow you'll kiss me."

"Yes. Kiss in sun. Kiss in rain. Kiss every day."

"Greedy," Miu smiled in her sleep.

"Greedy just enough to love just enough." Lena dimmed the light. The room settled in a soft gold. In her ear was Miu's even breathing—the sound of a bright morning, an unexpected storm, and a warm night.

Outside, the rain had long stopped. Water still pooled in long ribbons on the road, catching the streetlights like strips of silk. Inside, they lay under the blanket in each other's arms, sunlight sleeping in the arms of rain.

And tomorrow, if the sky was fickle again, they could still pull each other up, open the door—or close the curtains. Either way. The important thing was the hand in the hand.