Kyuhyun lets Henry drag him across the street to his apartment as they try their best to avoid the rain. Tiny water droplets fall on the pavement, creating puddles to splash in. The gathered water reflects an image of Henry’s fingers wrapped around his; he purposely avoids crashing his feet through it, hoping to preserve it somehow. It’s still so fragile, just like they are right now. They are together, new and fresh like the first spring rain they’ve wandered into, and it’s far too early to tell if the precipitation will help something grow. Kyuhyun watches the droplets slide from Henry’s hair to his jaw and wonders if each one knows how lucky it is to caress that face. He imagines his fingers tracing each little trail the drops left. He knows how lucky he is, but he brushes it off with the determination to change all of that.

Henry guides him through the lobby, shaking the rain drops from his hair like the unwanted hitchhikers they are. Some of them land on Kyuhyun; he doesn’t mind, just lets them roll over his skin. The lobby is full of people coming in from the rain and those waiting for it to stop, but he only sees Henry’s smiling face as they wait for the elevator to reach the ground floor. Men in ties and women in long coats dominate the elevator’s space, yet somehow the two of them fit in between them. The doors start to close a fraction of a second after he steps in, stumbling a little. Henry steadies him, puts a strong arm around him. Kyuhyun can smell the rain on Henry and the pork buns they ate for lunch. The other smell he can’t quite place, but it’s something of Henry. There’s something to that in and of itself.

Kyuhyun lives on the eighth floor. With each ding of a new floor, the doors open and a few people get off at the stop, some get on. He is too focused to care. Henry’s thigh brushes against his every so often, moving in a soothing pattern to the horrid tune from the elevator speakers. Even that is starting to sound beautiful as Henry hums along. Looking down at their laced fingers, he starts to forget which belong to him. He wiggles them to make sure it’s all still real, and Henry pulls him closer to his chest. On the eighth ding, they exit the elevator, side by side and holding hands, and move into the hallway of his floor. Kyuhyun takes a moment to consider his newfound hatred of the number eight.

It’s thirty steps to Kyuhyun’s door from the elevator’s stop. He counts each one, remembering each touch Henry gives him. Thirty steps come far too soon for his own taste, but then Henry smiles at him and all is forgotten. That is until fingers move from his. He fidgets a little, unsure of what to do next. There are way too many questions circling his brain when he feels a slight touch against his cheeks. Henry’s lips linger for a few seconds before backing away. Kyuhyun focuses on the light fixture above their heads, hoping the rush of blood doesn’t settle where those lips had been. 

“I had a great time today. I guess I’ll see you later?” Henry asks, leaving it up to Kyuhyun to decide.

He fumbles for words. Tongue-tied and sounding more and more like some love-crazed teenager, he says, “Yeah. I’d like that a lot.”

Henry holds a hand out as if meaning to wave goodbye or something. Kyuhyun is stuck on the smile he’s been offered. Those lips twitch upward, curving slightly and parting just enough to show cute bunny-like teeth. 

“Maybe next time it won’t be raining,” Henry says brightly. He laughs a little, and Kyuhyun joins in awkwardly.

Henry starts to walk away. Kyuhyun blurts out the first thing that comes to his mind, “It’s not raining in here.”

He isn’t sure how Henry took the statement, but he does enjoy seeing Henry come toward him. Henry kisses him then, nice and slow and against his door. Kyuhyun rummages through his pockets for his keys, but Henry stills his shaking hands. Henry steps backward. Kyuhyun is confused, to say the least, but before he asks, Henry whispers in his ear. “We have plenty of time for that later.” 

Henry walks away again; Kyuhyun lets him go this time. It’s different now. He replays the electric rush of Henry’s body next to his, the soft heat of lips on his, and the shiver down his spine when hot breath was next to his ear. Mostly, though, he repeats the words to himself as he opens the door. Henry is out of sight, not out of mind. Neither is the promise of more to come.