“A God?”  Taemin uttered much too loudly for an 8:00 am lecture hall side conversation.

  The professor momentarily stopped and frowned in their direction and Minho could feel his cheeks burning with embarrassment as the rest of his peers glanced at him with disapproving eyes.

  “Would you keep your voice down?” Minho muttered as class continued. He scribbled down a couple of notes before throwing his pen in defeat. “It’s weird, right?”

  Taemin clapped his hands slowly, “Choi Minho, everyone, with the understatement of the ing year.” He stuffed his papers into his backpack and tucked his only pencil behind his ear, swinging it over his shoulder as he scrambled to catch up to his best friend.

  Minho was halfway down the hall by the time Taemin managed to catch him. “Okay, it’s weird. I know.” Minho huffed as he scouted the courtyard for an empty table, left hand already reaching for his protein shake.

  “Good.” He threw is arm over Minho’s broad shoulders and squeezed, “At least you found out now before, you know, you’re stuck on a compound with no wifi and a 50 year old husband.”

  They sat at a secluded table, propping their feet up on the empty seats next to them. Minho let his head rest against the side of the building, hands fidgeting with the top of his bottle. “I kind of believe him, though?”

  “Minho.” Taemin warned.

  “Look, just hear me out, yeah?”

  Taemin sighed, taking off his cap and running his fingers through his sweat slickened hair, and stared at Minho. If he could humor Taemin with his countless conspiracy theories and put up with his general -ary, this was the least Taemin could do. “Okay,” He sighed, “I’m listening.”

  Jonghyun fidgeted uncomfortably in the metal chair, stealing glances at his watch and phone. It had been almost a week since Minho had practically fled from his apartment after Jonghyun had confessed the one secret he had spent the majority of his existence trying to hide. Not that he could blame him. The Rainmaker’s history was not one that many civilizations bothered to document. And, granted, maybe Jonghyun shouldn’t have exposed him to a vapor spirit before he had a chance to fully explain himself.

  He shuffled through his old journal and ran his fingers lovingly over the pages. This one was from the 1900’s and the first one he kept since being assigned his post. The leather bound book was still in good condition, and Jonghyun chuckled quietly at the amount of unnecessary details filling every page.

  He was such a nerd back then, remembering the countless nights he spent writing secretly by candle light. Flashes of memories bombarded him, teaching Hangeul in small shacks in the middle of the country, small children scribbling furiously, eyes squinting in the darkness as they tried to make out the characters they just wrote. Small smiles shared across the room with his co-teacher, love notes and stolen kisses, and the way she looked as she was dragged through the street by a Japanese patrol man, the tiny screams he would never be able to forget, and the way he begged that they take him instead… After Minjung’s death, he had released storm after storm cursing the heavens, pleading with them to give her back.

  Jonghyun slammed the journal shut, placing it gently to the side, refusing to remember anymore.They were for Minho, for proof, not for Jonghyun. He didn’t need to relive his past. His memories were vivid enough.

  He took a sip from his iced coffee, hands visibly shaking. In an attempt to distract himself, he pulled out his planner. Jonghyun glanced at his wristwatch. It was only 2:58. He still had plenty of time before he had to release another storm. So long as he was back at his apartment by 8:00, he should be able to keep his schedule.
 Jonghyun reached into his back pocket for his pen, writing a small note to remind himself to remind Minho to stay home tonight. Junho, though docile in personality, was a hell of a storm. Have talk with Junho.Jonghyun scribbled underneath his previous note. Maybe he could convince the little to not wreak total havoc on his poor city.

  He jumped when he felt a hand grip his shoulder. Sighing in relief as he remembered why he was at the coffee shop in the first place. He smiled widely, the idea of seeing Minho after so long making his heart flutter. “Minho, you c-,”the rest of his words stuck in his throat when he met the other’s eyes.

  “Not Minho.” The other man stated almost apologetically, hand squeezing gently before moving to sit across from Jonghyun. “How are you old friend?”

  Jonghyun’s eyes filled with tears and he choked back a sob. He knew what this meant. It was the way of his world. And yet, he wasn’t ready. Not yet. Not when he still had so much to do. “How long do I have?” He wiped at his cheeks and nose trying to rid his face of any evidence of his devastation. It wasn’t the other man’s fault. He was just following orders.

  “A couple of weeks. Maybe a month.” The elder smiled sadly. “I’m so sorry, Jjong.”

  And with that one sentence, Jonghyun broke into tears yet again. “It’s okay. I knew it was coming. I just didn’t think it would be this quick.” He smiled through his tears and reached for his friend’s hand. “I’m glad it’s you, Jinki.” He managed between sobs. “I’m glad it’s you.”