Sakuya is woken up by rain smacking against the window pane. Drowsy, she touches her hand to the glass. The typhoon hasn't let up at all.

Sakuya likes having their bed pressed right against the window. It had been her idea to put it there, when she and Yuika were deciding the layout of their apartment. There’s a certain romanticism to being able to turn your head on your pillow and see the sunrise. However, in the winter, and when it rains, having the window nearby does make their bed feel significantly colder.

Sakuya rolls over, reaches out to pull Yuika back into her embrace but—Yuika is gone.

Something buried and childish whispers: She must have been blown away by the typhoon.

For a split second Sakuya believes it.

Glancing across the room, Sakuya can see a strip of light underneath the closed door to their bathroom. Yuika must be in there.

Sakuya brushes her palm against the section of mattress right next to her, where Yuika had lay when they'd fallen asleep. It's still warm.

Growing up in Kochi, typhoons were a common occurrence. From summer to fall, there would usually be at least one or two a month. Many more than she sees now in Tokyo. Sakuya has never felt accustomed to them, though.

Typhoons meant nights where her father never came home at all.

Sakuya would sit by the telephone after eating her microwaved dinner, praying that she would get a second phone call, hear her father saying that the forecast didn’t look as bad as they thought, that he wouldn’t have to spend the night at the office after all. But the call wouldn’t come.

When it was time to go to bed, Sakuya would gather all her stuffed toys and arrange them around the edge of her futon, like guardians to protect her from the rain and the wind and the dark. She would lie there trembling, until exhaustion finally took its toll.

In the morning that followed, her father would find Sakuya balled up into her futon, her cuddly army still standing guard beside her.

Yuika's body is so, so slight. It's too easy to imagine a strong gust of wind ripping her from Sakuya's arms.

Sakuya hears a faint click from the other side of the room.

The delicacy with which Yuika opens the bathroom door, the lightness of her footsteps as she walks back to their bed, all expose her kindness.

When Yuika starts to lift up the covers, she meets Sakuya's gaze.

“Aw, Sakuyan... Did I wake you?”

“Not at all. It was the sound of the rain that woke me, I think.”

(Though, it's possible that some unconscious sense that Yuika was no longer in her arms played a part too.)

Yuika slides back under their blankets, and settles herself down next to Sakuya. “The typhoon's still going strong, huh...”

Rather than pull Yuika back into her arms, how they were when they'd fallen asleep hours ago—Sakuya slides herself down a little, and rests her head on top of Yuika's chest, right by her heart.

“...Sakuyan?” Yuika's fingers immediately find themselves in Sakuya's hair, stroking her gently. That’s Sakuya’s favorite. "What's up?"

"I just wanted to hear your heartbeat... Suddenly."

Sakuya feels Yuika’s breathing halt for a moment.

Nervous, Sakuya lifts her head. Yuika’s hand doesn’t leave her hair. “I'm not... crushing your lungs, am I?”

Yuika giggles. "Nooo! Mitsumine is a-okay!" She begins to pet Sakuya harder, to emphasize her point.

Sakuya settles back onto Yuika’s chest. She leans further over to wrap her arms around Yuika's waist as well. If Sakuya uses her own body to weigh Yuika down, then a typhoon, or anything else, won't ever be able to snatch her away.

The rhythm of Yuika's heartbeat. The rise and fall of each breath Yuika takes. Yuika's fingers in her hair. When Sakuya lets only these fill her mind, the raindrops at the window don't sound as threatening.

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