Outside, the rain was falling in heavy, noisy drops.
It was midday, and the smell of their neighbour’s heavy sausage stew crept into the apartment. Gevuyn tried to concentrate on the presentation he was trying to write – some stupid idea by the higher-ups, speeches at schools and universities, detailing their work – but not too exactly, of course – what a stupid, stupid idea – it was hard.
At first, when the smell started up, it was disgusting cause the grease had to burn off. Then it turned to where it made him hungry. Most of his unhealthy lunches were due to that smell. Then it got overpowering, and sometimes she’d add stuff that made his stomach turn, so he had to be done with lunch by then.
At last he got up from his papers and opened the window behind him.
Cold air blew in, welcome and damp, smelling like rain, winter just on the cusp of spring, but spring was still being coy or maybe just lazy, and wanted to be persuaded.
Meanwhile, its rain did the persuading on the majority of the people.
Some windows in the housing block complex were opened, some closed.
There were two types of people. Those that opened the window in this weather for the rain’s soothing qualities, and those that kept it closed for the same reason.
Yurtoril and he were the third kind. The “whatever” kind. The ones that could choose either, on frivolous whims, because they had not been given a choice in the past.
He remembered being a kid, in the Watcher’s academy dorm, or rather cell, when rainy days meant the windows had to stay rigidly closed. Withdrawal. First you had to get the stuff out of your system, even if you had some base immunity, or maybe it was all just attitude. No one seemed to know.
Wanting nothing more than to open those damned windows and hold your hand out and end the plaguing of your thoughts. End it all. Give up and be happy, or at least not miserable.
Sitting back down on your bunk bed and reading something spitefully negative or depressing as a fuck you to the rain you couldn’t have.
Gevuyn sighed. Grit his teeth. He held out his hand into the rain. Heavy, noisy drops that didn’t do a thing.
“Fuck you, rain,” he whispered under his breath.
He left the window open and sat back down to his notes as the rain drenched the windowsill.