Cheriour doesn't like the rain. It makes him feel exactly like the poor little birds who take shelter around the bird feeder outside his window, their little feathers soaked to the bone as they chirp indignantly at the dark sky.

And yet, he's out here in a yellow raincoat that is obviously way too big for him, smiling at the puddles forming around his booted feet.

What could have happened to change his opinion like that?

Maybe it has to do with the boy rushing to tackle him from behind. For as they tumble in the mud, and Cheriour shouts with surprise, there's something tender in the way he pretends to be mad that there is mud all over him. He retaliates with handfuls of mud of his own, and after a few minutes both boys are nothing but brown-stained messes, their hair damp as can be.

And as there is a moment of reprieve for the two, Cheriour reaches over to dislodge a twig from Chi-Rho's hair, laughing heartily, and before he knows it, Chi-Rho is wiping the mud away from his lips with a finger so that he can dirty them with his own.

It takes only a few seconds of kissing for Cheriour to realize that he no longer hates the rain anymore.