Gokudera is positively livid.

Yamamoto is trying very hard not to laugh. It's not the right reaction, he knows, laughter will be the fastest way to ruin this day beyond any hope of saving, and that's motivation enough to keep his mouth safely shut on the resigned amusement that wants to spill out his throat and past his lips. It's just hard to hold his composure when Gokudera keeps glaring at the gray sky like it's personally wronged him, all but shaking his fist at the clouds overhead for all the world like he's holding the heavens personally responsible for his current mood.

"This is stupid," he growls now, for the third time since the skies opened up and started pouring so much rain they were both soaked before they could even consider taking shelter somewhere. "It's not supposed to rain on a date, isn't there some sort of fucking romance clause in the rules?"

"If it can rain on weddings I'm pretty sure it can rain on dates," Yamamoto smiles. "It's okay, it's not that big of a deal."

"It is a big deal," Gokudera insists. His shoulders are hunched under the damp translucence of his white shirt, his position telegraphing the danger of physical contact right now so clearly Yamamoto keeps his hands to himself. "We were supposed to be having a romantic afternoon and now look, we're both soaked and the whole day is ruined."

"Aww," Yamamoto laughs. "It's not ruined!"

That gets him Gokudera's attention, the full force of green eyes turned on him so bright with frustration it's hard to see the soft of disappointment at the other's lips. "Really," he grates. "Do go on. How is this not the fucking definition of ruined?"

"I like the rain," Yamamoto says, keeps talking as Gokudera scoffs and rolls his eyes. "We can still go back to my place for sushi and watch a movie, it's not like you have to go home right now." Gokudera's shoulders are relaxing, if only barely; Yamamoto doesn't touch him yet, but he watches the wet of the cloth cling to the pale of Gokudera's skin like it's a signal, a barrier easing away as he keeps talking. "And I like being with you, no matter where we are."

"God," Gokudera groans, and his elbow comes out to dig into Yamamoto's ribs hard enough to knock the breath from the other's body. "You are the biggest sap to have ever existed."

Yamamoto hums, protest impossible to offer under the circumstances. This close he can see the water droplets clinging to the wet-dark silver of the other's hair, can see the sheen of rain-damp against Gokudera's cheekbones when he tips his head up to glower at the other's smile.

"You look amazing," Yamamoto says without thinking, appreciation for the way the water washes Gokudera into a glow slipping immediate from his lips. He's half-expecting another punch, a growl or a curse or a hit, but Gokudera's expression relaxes instead, an eyebrow raising into the shape of skeptical amusement and his lips drawing tighter, like maybe he's thinking about smiling.

"You have got to be kidding," he says. "Are you feverish from the storm or something?" He makes a show of pouting in concern, reaches up to press his hand to Yamamoto's forehead.

Yamamoto laughs, turns his head in towards Gokudera's touch so his mouth skims the very inside of the other's wrist. "I'm serious," he says, sincerity turning his voice low as Gokudera makes a face and pulls his hand back from the contact. "You always look good but you look really great right now."

"I look like a drowned cat," Gokudera says, his expression still shaped around that amused almost-concern. "And you look like you decided to go swimming and forgot to take your clothes off first."

"No, really," Yamamoto insists. It's even more pronounced now, with Gokudera looking up at him so the ambient illumination can catch out the color in his eyes, the flush of his skin under the clinging wet of his shirt. "The water is making you all sparkly."

Gokudera sighs. "You are just a freak for the rain now too," he declares. "First baseball, now rain. I can't believe you."

"It's a rainstorm," Yamamoto points out, grinning past Gokudera's predictable groan of outrage at this comment. "Of course I like it."

"God," Gokudera huffs. "You're completely out of control." But he's smiling, even if it's at Yamamoto's expense, and when Yamamoto laughs in willing agreement Gokudera rewards him by tilting his head up in unspoken submission to the kiss Yamamoto is aching to give him.

He tastes like water for a moment, cold and clean against Yamamoto's tongue. Then Yamamoto fits his hand past the wet of silver hair to press against the back of Gokudera's neck, and storm-chilled fingers find their way in under his red jacket to press to the back of his t-shirt, and in the smoky-sweet of Gokudera's mouth and the warmth of his lips Yamamoto forgets all about the storm overhead.