I woke up to use the bathroom. When I returned, I decided it was too late to try to sleep again. I sat in bed and played games on my phone. The rain provided excellent white noise to channel out my sadness.

Jongin flipped over, now sleeping on his stomach. I could see the scar on his . It started at the nape of his neck and stretched all the way down to his hips. I gently traced the branches. He smiled. 

“Good morning,” I said. 

“Morning,” he mumbled, eyes cracking open. His full lips drew out into a smile and I couldn’t resist kissing them. He sighed, but it wasn’t a happy sigh. 

“What’s wrong?” I asked. 

He sat up, bunching up the white hotel blankets in his lap. “I miss you. Every time I get to see you, it feels shorter than the last. And now I’m leaving again.”

I rested my chin on his shoulder. “This, too, shall pass. I’ll graduate, and I’ll become a famous journalist and specialize in following you guys around like a sasaeng.” 

Jongin smirked. “You promise?” 

“Pinky promise.”

As our hands locked together, so did our lips. 

In the distance, thunder rolled. 

---

The storm was incredibly out of season, but he couldn’t care less. He had better things to worry about. 

---

If there was one thing life had taught her, it was to dance under the rain, if one wanted to dance at all.

---

“You wanna know something?” I asked.

“Hmm?” he replied, pulling a shirt over his head. 

“I used to be afraid of thunderstorms.” 

Jongin chuckled. “Really?” 

“Yeah. As a kid, I would scream every time lightning struck, and I would wait out the whole storm under m