Sleeping Storm

[500 Themes: 170]

It is raining when Barnaby wakes.

A bleary-eyed, blur-tinged glance at the block tells him it's late – too late, really, why isn't he out of bed yet when it is already after noon? But all it takes is a glance to the open window to know the reason, to hear the all too soothing splatter of raindrops that slip down the glass and run along it like little, miniature rivers.

As a child, he used to watch raindrops race over the glass of the car windows as they would drive around – try to predict which one would win, make up stories about them as if they were people.

He couldn't even pretend that it was an amusing circumstance that crushed all of that imagination out of him for twenty years.

And yet now – now, wrapped up in breezily cool and light linens, stretched out over a bed after having slept in past any respectable time, he can't help but feel he has gained a little bit of that back: because Barnaby wishes he could more clearly see the raindrops spiraling against the glass, wishes he could see the two that always seemed to slip and slide down the entire length of it before colliding and becoming one at the very end.

If Kotetsu were a raindrop, he'd be a very odd one; the one that Barnaby could never predict the actions of, the one that would make him frown and sigh and smile, all the same.


Barnaby shifts, rolling to the side to face his partner – his companion – his lover. Kotetsu just looks up at him sleepily, swings an arm about his hips, and drags him back down, close and warm and so comfortably strong.

"Back to sleep." It's something of an order, and Barnaby hides his smile into the crook of Kotetsu's neck as he sags into the man's hold, relenting without a single protest.

"Sleep," he quietly affirms, all too content to resign himself to a lazy day.