In a rare moment of solitude, you and Changkyun lie on a pile of blankets and pillows on the floor of the empty apartment. The movie that had played on the television ended long ago and the screen now sits black; Lo-fi music fills the space between the sparse pockets of conversation. Red and blue accent lights stain the ceiling as they bleed together into purple. Every window and the doors of the balcony have been thrown open wide to allow fresh spring air to stroll languidly inside—a sweet calmness following behind every new breath of wind.

“It smells like rain.” Changkyun comments from beside you.

You inhale deeply, in the clean air that has become saturated with the scent of an impending storm.

“Maybe we should close the windows,” you move to sit up but Changkyun’s warm hand on your wrist halts you. You toss him a questioning look, but his gaze remains fixed on the blend of colors that dance overhead.

“It’ll be okay,” he assures. “Stay here with me.”

You shrug and settle back into the many pillows around you. A particularly strong gust of wind swirls in through the balcony doors and you shiver. Changkyun says nothing as he pulls more of the blanket over you, taking great care to straighten it out over your exposed toes.

“Thank you,” you smile gently, “but now you’re bared to the elements and I can’t have you getting sick.” Before Changkyun can reply, you scoot closer to his side and distribute the blanket equally over your bodies. He turns his head away quickly to hide the telling heat that floods up his neck to pool at his cheeks.

You remain in silence, listening to the way the wind begins to rustle through the trees to create a lullaby with the soft notes of the lo-fi.

There is another temperamental gust of wind that unleashes the spring storm with sheets of rain. It blows in through the windows and open doors to spray the room in a fine mist. You leap to your feet with a laugh and rush to slide the balcony doors closed. Changkyun slams shut the nearest window with a bemused grin, watching as you run to another window. He adores the way your laughter mixes with the melody of the rain and melts when he catches sight of the raindrops that cling to your eyelashes. He begins to think that you were born of sweet spring storms.

You dash in front of him towards a window on the other side of the room, and as you pass he whispers his confession to the storm, hoping that the little drops of his love can cling to you a moment longer.