The rain slowly fell, making the ground damp. The sprinkles made spots on the man's aviator glasses. He felt the cool air, relished in the scents of life it brought with it.

He stood there, clad in black dress pants, a white shirt, and a green vest. His sunglasses covered his eyes, and his long black hair was pulled back in a ponytail at the nape of his neck. His foot, protected by shinning ebony shoes, tapped rhythmically on the concrete. He leaned against the railing that protected him from the strong current of the river. He waited.

The man watched from across the street. He sat on a bench, khaki pants somehow allowing for him to cross his legs, right ankle over left knee. The red shirt he wore was somewhat covered by the brown leather jacket. Blonde hair hung loose around his face, wild and free, much like the man they sprung forth from.

For once, the night was quiet, peaceful. No one wanted to travel in the wet weather, but still they stood, sat, waiting for the inevitable moment when the peace, the truce would end, and they would be forced to talk, to yell, to fight. They waited.

The blonde stood next to the raven-haired man. He stood silently, uncharacteristically so.

"Sometimes," he started. Then he stopped.

More waiting.

The raven-haired man looked up the inch and a half that seperated their heights. He reached over, fixed some golden strands thay blocked the blue eyes.

"Sometimes," he began. He closed his mouth, turned back away.

The wait continued.

"Always," the blonde admitted. The raven-haired man adjusted his sunglasses, tilted his head back to look at the sky.

"It has been far too long. I have missed the rain," he finally said.

The blonde sighed, "I haven't been out in too long. I've missed the night."

"I miss the way it smells, how it is natural cleansing-"

"I miss the way it caresses my skin, gently-"

"I miss how relaxing yet thrilling it can be-"

"-yet how thunderously it can pour, so loud it cannot be ignored-"

"-the way it is a reprieve from all the day's troubles, an old friend-"

"-the way it can blind me from all things except for what is in front of me-"

"-the way it is so complex-"

"-the way it is so simple."

They stopped, they looked at each other. The blonde reached out, removing the sunglasses, so unnecessary at this time of night. He appreciated the green orbs, unnaturally bright, beneath. They waited.

"Love," the raven-haured man continued, "is never so simple as the rain."

"Love can be dark, complex like night," the blonde mused. "But it is also as natural."

"The rain is so cleansing, so fleeting. Love, it stays, becomes rooted in, is not as easy to dry out. It does not evaporate. It stays, grows back, no matter how much you cut it. Love is a weed, and I am an ignorant gardener."

"Love is a velvet blanket in which I immerse myself. It is warm, it is comforting. Love is calming yet makes my heart roar and soar with impossible lightness."

"Love is blinding."

"Love is soothing."

"I cherish it."

"I despise it."

"Yet, out of the two of us, who is more miserable?"

The raven-haired man stilled.

"Sometimes," he sighed, "sometimes I question why I fight a losing fight."

"Always," the blonde vowed, "always, I miss you."

"I lose either way-"

"I can't let you go-"

"I don't want to fall-"

"I fell years ago-"

"I want to erase you from my mind-"

"You haunt my memory-"

"But your memory is as stubborn as you are-"

"I need you too much to ignore-"

"-I need to go-"

"-I need you to stay-"

"-I loathe you-"

"-I love you."

The raven-haired man put his sunglasses back on, walked away with his hands in his pockets.

The blonde watches him go, disappear. He will be back. He always comes back. But for now, the blonde, he waits.

Fin.