Your reward? My take on Rain's first kiss.
Well. It's one version anyway. I have another idea for a rainy day.
“I want to become your reason for life,” she said, her voice as low and warm as late spring. Her arms around him trembled [bony arms, frail arms, looks like Rain’s diet isn’t helping much] and he didn’t embrace her back.
Outside the window, Yuca could just barely see Rain’s hair, bright the way dandelion fluff stands out against summer grass.
He untangled himself from Freya’s grasp and left her room, aware that she was crying [she soaked the collar of his shirt with her tears] and unable to understand why he was supposed to care. A month ago, or two, or three, he would have murmured words of comfort or squeezed her shoulder. Now it seemed that she was little more than a huddled mass on a bed, like a beetle thrashing on its back, too afraid to let itself die.
Maybe then I can go on living…He knew she had said it, but in his head the words belonged to someone else.
He had wanted to move past Rain without being noticed, but his feet slipped in the marshy carpet of petals. Although Rain was too absorbed in shredding the earth [retaliating for having dug a grave?] to notice, it made Yuca change his mind.
He knew there was something he should say, but the words dried up like ash before he could even form them. He simply waited until Rain stopped, coughing with exertion, and then he fisted a hand in the other man’s dark jacket.
“What—“ Rain turned wearily, eyes wide, his face streaked with dirt and salt. A petal stuck to his jaw. “Yuca, I didn’t mean to wake you.”
Yuca’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn’t know what feeling that was supposed to express. He wasn’t even sure he was feeling anything at all.
Rain was still panting, his lungs raw from spending all night working out fear and rage and helplessness. But his gaze softened, and Yuca could see concern [it was only for Freya before] trickling back up into his thoughts. “What’s wrong? Did something happen?”
Yuca looked away, at the path that led down from the orphanage. Rain was staring up at the dark, empty windows, and the silence finally gnawed him into action. He started to pull away from Yuca, to go see what was wrong.
Yuca was smaller, slighter, but he hadn’t been working himself stiff all night and he was able to twist Rain back around to face him. He leaned up when Rain was still, and kissed him. He was aware suddenly of how warm his own lips were, when he could feel how cold the night had made Rain’s.
And then he let go.
“Yuca--!” Rain’s voice was caught between a whisper and a yelp.
He finally mustered up something to say. A lie, of course, and a convincing one because those were the only kind he ever told. “Am I dreaming, Freya?”