She hates it when he says he's sorry.
He will tremble and look at her with those big sad blue eyes, almost as if you were stepping on his heart rather than telling him to stand up for himself.
He will lower his head and mutter the apology, almost as if he didn't wanted you to notice, trying to shrink all of himself. She will then explode at him, call him a useless stupid pervert, a wimp with no backbone. And he will take it without saying anything else but sorry.
But in reality, she is the one who is sorry, sorry for saying those words, for not being able to control her temper; sorry for being so hurtful, so prideful, so mean. Sorry for him being the one to always say sorry, which leaves her being the one who has to be strong, impenetrable, a rock for the waves to crash against.
And she is so tired of being so strong.
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She loves it when it rains; the school will get fresher (which is always a plus when she has to clean up), and the smell of fresh damp soil and dew covered leaves has always been a nice memory for her.
She likes the feeling of cleanliness she gets just by seeing the clear water drops falling one after the other, the shushing, calming effect it has on her, her own personal relaxation; just staring out for long, endless hours watching the rain fall down, watching the day flows by with the rain.
She loves the fresh breeze that flows by prior to the rain falling down, and just after it has stopped, not cold, but chilly enough to make her forget the warmth.
And she loves it the most when she has to stay for cleanup, because he will be waiting for her at the school entrance, ready to share his umbrella (because she always "forgets" hers).
And she has to fight the dumb smile and tall tale blush on her face as she walks so close to him she can smell the rain in his hair.