Apollo cursed the earth,

and made the sun disappear.

It was a dreary day, to say the least. The sky was clogged with gray fluff, that which was inflated by the heavy weight of rain and thunder. The usually upbeat school of Mikagura Academy was transformed into some desolate place, as the youthful souls of the school confined themselves within the dry, safe boundaries of their dorms. Not many people wandered outside, and most of the lights were turned off as the lightning illuminated the sky and windows in sporadic flashes, instead.

Usually, there was only a handful of ways one could feel about stormy weather. The first was a feeling full of love and adoration, because some people thought that dark skies and rolling thunder was absolutely beautiful, and that the flashes of lightning were as wondrous as shooting stars. They admired the way the storm revived and energized the plant life around them, and they appreciated it even more if it meant getting them a free day out of class. People jokingly (or not) said that they would go outside and record the phenomena, even if it meant getting soaked to the bone in the process.

The second way to feel about stormy weather was one filled with fear. Phobias are typically deemed as irrational fears, but many people shared the same anxiety when it came to thunder and lightning joining as one. The dread of lightning striking down glass, trees, and entire buildings was nothing short of frightening. One's body was always on guard to anticipate the deafening thunder, and always recoiled when they least expected it. The pitch black color that the world took on during a storm was hardly comforting, either, and together the entire ordeal drove many people into hiding out the storm out of pure fear and discomfort.

The third way to feel about dreadful weather was immense dislike or hatred of it in the first place. It was not fear that overtook these people, because the event was not scary enough in their mind to send them into hiding. Rather, storms were usually so loud and disruptive that people under the third category found it to a be a nuisance more than anything else. They saw it as an unnecessary event that prevented them from carrying out their day in the routinely fashion. People like that preferred sunny skies, and longed for the warmth of the blue heavens above to return to them.

Asuhi, by default, fell into the third category. He didn't hate the rain, exactly, but he just hated the way the clouds blocked the sky above him. He hated how he couldn't see the stars shine through in their brilliant oblivion, and there was nothing he could do for them except wait it out. He was saddened by his actions more than anything, as he stared longingly out the window for the storm to end—and for his wondrous stars to glow radiantly once more.

Kyoma, on the other hand, loved weather like this. He adored every part of it. Everything from the roaring thunder, to the mindless rain, and finally back down to the erratic lightning—they all comforted him greatly and drowned out most of his thoughts as he was lost in the rhyme-less beat of their dance. It evoked a sense of artistic inspiration within him, one that he hadn't felt in a long time, and he quickly got to work because of this.

His canvas was landscape this time, and utterly blank as he waited for lightning to strike before he started painting. There was a newfound excitement in his heart, and perhaps it came from the fact that his landscape works were mostly sunny days or windy sunsets—but this time he slathered dark paints onto the canvas, feeling utterly enthralled by the promise of the gloomy paradise that was yet to come. To him, the rain and storm were just as enticing—if not more so—than the sunny days or bright nights. Beauty was in the eye of the beholder and Kyoma's eyes were wild like the storm outside.

But as the hours ticked away, the messy piece was quickly finished, and it was nearly an exact replication of the gray sights that Kyoma could see right out the window. Everything was captured in that singular canvas. The weight of the gloomy clouds, the silver slate sky, and even the awkward angles of lightning were accurately portrayed—right down to the way that they surged through the heavens like blood through veins, and then shot out to the ground with righteous fury.

He sighed, and felt the burden on his shoulders lift up as another project was finally completed. To reward himself, the artist reached into his fridge and grabbed a box of milk, and drank it empty in a manner of seconds. When he was done, he threw it away in one of the many trash cans lying around, and he perched himself by the window sill. He stared out into the dark oblivion that was Mikagura Academy, that which was transformed easily by the treacherous night.

Kyoma felt a part of him yearning for the outside, wanting childishly to run in the rain and be soaked to the bone. He wanted the cold, that biting cold that would leave him breathless and weak. He thought about the wind, the dizzying wind that made dancers out of the trees, and how it would probably make a mess of his hair and his clothes. He wanted that shocking sensation, that overwhelming pulsation, and that numbing experience to overcome him.

He wanted it, because it would mean that he could lose himself entirely, even if just for a if that minute multiplied into more minutes, or hours even, he figured it would not be such a terrible thing. After all, what was a little water going to do to him? Nothing that he hadn't already done to himself. So there would be no consequence in him wandering out there, and feeling alive for once in his life.

He wanted it so badly, and there were many times where he was unable to bring his desires into reality. This time would be different, however.

This time, he would let himself unravel down to the tiniest sliver of himself, until there was nothing left.

Nothing at all.

...

"It's been raining for at least four hours," Yuto complained. Him and some others found themselves inside Asuhi's dorm, because his room was arguably the largest of them all. Of course, even if it was the smallest room on campus, Asuhi was sure that the others would show up at his doorstep, anyway. Luckily for them he was not mean spirited in the least, and actually welcomed the company, big or small.

"You don't like the rain?" Eruna asked, playing with Himi's bow as she laid across her smaller lap. "Are you scared, Akama? Do you need strong girls like us to protect you?"

Himil giggled, and started unwrapping a few candies from her bag. She also slapped Eruna's hands—which got a bit too touchy around her—as punishment for breaking her promise to lay off her usual touchy-feely ways earlier. She looked sad but Himi ignored her theatrics in full. "I think Akamacchi can protect himself!"

'Akamacchi' scoffed as he stretched his legs out as far as they could on the carpet, all whilst leaning the rest of his body against the soft sofa. "It's just rain," He mentioned in a deadpan. "I didn't say I was afraid of it, I just don't like it. The ground's gonna get, like, so slippery and worms come popping out of the soil just because it's wet. It's so gross."

"Rain is usually good for the flowers," Sadamatsu suddenly said from his place next to Himi. He seemed utterly content with the entire situation around him. "But I'm afraid weather like this might...be...too much, even for them for them." The words droned out calmly, and the lilt of his voice was terribly similar to the easy lull of the rain. Only when the downpour intensified, did Sadamatsu's demeanor become even more sedate than usual.

"It's too much for me," Otone squeaked out, as she was curled up unceremoniously on the bed, hidden under the covers together with an equally afraid Meika Katai. The girls were usually awkward around each other, but fear could bring people together whether they liked it or not. And as a flash of lightning erupted outside the window, accompanied by a din of thunder, Otone and Meika easily decided that they really didn't like this situation.

"I hate the thunder! It-It's loud," Otone said sadly, shrinking underneath the blankets.

Meika whimpered in agreement. "I-It will go away soon, right...?"

"I'm sure it will!" Asuhi decided to join in on the conversation, after having been lost in thought from staring out the rain-streaked window. He walked over to his friends and put on his best, eager smile. "I would be happy if the stars came out again, too."

"Of course, Asuhi loves the stars!" Eruna chirped, lifting herself from Himi's lap. "I'd think they're pretty, too, but not as pretty as Seisa! I bet she's staring out her window in thought right now, sighing whimsically—"

"She's back at her mansion, huh?" Yuto quickly interrupted, seemingly not in the mood for Eruna's fantastical assumptions. The girl didn't seem too particularly disturbed by this interruption though, as she let it continue. Their teasing was a usual back-and-forth ritual that happened most of the time.

Now was one of those times. Yuto spoke again. "Hey, speaking of people that aren't here, where's Shigure? Isn't he usually around you at a time like this?"

Ichinomiya noticed this, and checked her surroundings as if Ninomiya was still hiding somewhere, waiting to jump out and give a big speech about how he would protect Eruna from the rain, or something like that. But he wasn't there at all, which was odd, considering that he always grabbed a chance to be near his cousin. So where was he now?

"Now that you mention it, I have no idea where that dummy is! But Shigure can take care of himself, I'm sure. Him and Enoyan are probably sulking it up somewhere," Eruna said jokingly, a coy grin on her face. "They'll be fine!"

At these words, Asuhi felt something tug at his chest, which gave him a feeling of impotent dread. There was no reason for this, but it was something about Eruna's words that gave him doubt. He brought his hands up to his chest, and sighed heavily. What he never found the courage to say, he would repeat internally like an obsessed mantra, until the severity of his heart was too much to bear, and until his tear-rimmed eyes cried out silently.

Will they really be okay?

...

"Kuzuryu?"

A familiar, lilting voice asked away into the darkness. The hallway was unlit, and Shigure was less than eager to grope around in the dark for the light switch. So he counted on the random flashes of lightning to illuminate his path, walking slowly as a result. His voice called out louder this time, in hopes of achieving what would be the attention of the person he wanted most to notice him.

"Kuzuryu, are you there?"

A majority of the students were in their own dorms, presumably, as they waited for the storm to end before continuing about their business. But Shigure figured that Kyoma would be in the art room, as he always was. And since no one else would be there, he also figured it was the perfect chance to talk to him alone.

For real.

Their relationship was strained, like frayed wire on the verge of snapping. Once roommates at Mikagura's sister school, they were the best of friends, before Kyoma started detracting from him, and from the school completely. Really, it was Ninomiya's ignorance to Kyoma's feelings that left a rift between them in the first place. Although it was primarily the fellow students who were to blame, Shigure was no better than them, as he had let Kyoma's feelings become warped without even attempting to console him.

These days, they hardly looked each other in the eye. Their conversations weren't as bare as they used to be, but they still essentially lead to nowhere. Although, since that new girl Rina Uzuki came around, he noticed that the artist was slowly starting to open up, and that break in his heart was just what Shigure needed. Those steel-clad defenses would not fall easily, and any chance they might be down was a chance that Shigure was willing to take.

After all, he was trying his best to patch things up again. Because while he claimed his true love was be Eruna, his first true friend was Kyoma. And even if they were hardly friends now, the sentiment had to mean something, right? All those years couldn't simply go to waste over the things left unsaid. With that resolve, the gray-haired boy sought out to repent for his sins—to reconcile with someone he once held dear.

Right, the Ninomiya thought to himself in affirmation. It's the thought that counts.

"I'm coming in there, so you better be ready!" He announced, finally making his way in front of the art room. Kyoma hated intruders, but Shigure hated waiting. He would probably come up with some profuse apology afterwards, and the artist would be forced to accept them in lieu of the situation. With that thought in mind, and without any hesitation in his being, Shigure broke through the art room.

Yet no one was there. The room was empty of living people, and the only familiar faces he saw were those of the art mannequins, which only served to scare him out of his wits. He couldn't even hide the undignified scream of terror that left his mouth.

Feeling quite frustrated by it all, he turned on the lights and checked to see if maybe his artistic friend had fallen asleep somewhere. But as the room lit up, there were no signs of the artist in question, and the only evidence that he was ever there at all laid within the newly finished painting in the middle of the room. The sign of life was found in the still-wet splatters of paint on the floor, and in the barely-dry brush strokes on the canvas.

With attentive steps (so as not to accidentally ruin his shoes in the paint), Shigure moved forward to inspect the scene. He found something strange, but thought provoking all the same. The canvas was a glimpse into another world, but the world in front of him looked just like the storm outside. The colors were muted, dull, and monotonous—which only helped to emphasize the streaks of yellow color for thunderbolts, and something else that lay presented in the shockingly pretty frame.

An orange, human-shaped blob lay at the bottom, which was so small in comparison to the clouds it looked like the poor soul was getting eaten alive by the storm itself. Not to mention the grief he would feel as the storm devoured him inside and out. No doubt the water would half-drown him, and the wild winds would whip him around like cream in a bowl. The sporadic lightning would electrify him, and if he was truly unlucky then the thunder would deafen him, too. That small, orange blob was in great danger, indeed.

Still, it was a beautiful painting nonetheless. With the inspiration for it being so close outside, it was something seen as normal at the time. Shigure was naturally inquisitive though, and followed this investigation the rest of the way with his eyes only. Gray irises moved curiously from the painting to the window, and the accompanying black pupils widened at what they found.

The window in the art room was slightly ajar, barely on its hinges as water and wind leaked through the side. There, the faint smell of rain and paint fumes wafted in, with gray and orange smears left on the side as evidence. There were finger-like marks and bits of a shoeprint, as well, all of which lead to one singular conclusion.

Someone had left through this window. Someone had ran out of the room, and made way for the disastrous storm outside. Someone had abandoned the painting upon its completion, and headed into the scene that its image was based upon. He should have been more worried than this, and maybe was. All Shigure could think about in that moment was Kyoma, and how no matter how cold his friend's heart had become, it was no match for the cold that was waiting for him outside.

None at all.

For days, the sunlight disappeared,

and the world was drowned in rain.