Wheatley hates rain, but he loves rainy days spent with Chell.
Gray mornings are spent snuggling under piles of blankets, his arm around her waist, her face buried in the crook of his neck. They lounge in bed for hours, enjoying each other's warm and dozing to the gentle lull of the rain. It's mornings like these when the world is at its best, in Wheatley's opinion: Soft, and warm, and safe, and quiet- yes, quiet- he realizes. He doesn't mind the silence during storms; the cadence of the rain is enough to fill the silence.
When they finally rise, rainy days are spent in oversized sweatshirts. Chell makes her way to the kitchen with Wheatley in tow. While he fiddles with the knobs of the counter top radio she goes about making something warm to eat.
Later she'll open up the windows, letting in crisp air and the smell of rain. Once she's sure there are no more dinner preparations to be made Chell will settle beside Wheatley on the couch. By this point he's covered in every quilt they own. She'll giggle as he pulls her under the mass of blankets and into his lap, settling her on his chest. Wheatley holds her. He wraps his arms around her stomach and buries his face in her hair. Chell smiles at him but he doesn't see it.
Soft classical music can be heard over the sound of rain.
