"Insulation"
Riza felt a little guilty about thinking it, but the rain was lovely, really. There was something beautiful in the way it held and softened the landscape, muffling the stray figures in rolls of misted velvet.
Maybe – maybe she couldn't help but love it because of him, because of the way he'd lift his head on those days and blearily announce that he couldn't be of any use, with weather like that, and return, groundhog-like, to his burrow in her side.
Maybe it was because of the way the rain drumming on the roof blended with his soft breaths, the way the weight of his head seemed all the more comforting when the world was gone.
Maybe it was because of the way the silence allowed her to think that they two were the last on earth. Lord, how joyous that would be.