"You know, I think I did see that somewhere," Gokudera said during the car ride back.
"I thought it was an interesting fact," Yamamoto said.
"But it's not a proven theory,"
"Is that that what it is? We should look at the article."
"Oh, I was thinking, what do we do for breakfast?"
"I'll make it. I'm pretty handy in the kitchen."
"Really that's somewhat unexpected."
"Hey, what's that supposed to mean?"
The two snickered a bit at this. Red light. A droplet. A soft, quiet gasp.
"Rain? This time of year?"
More. Like a curtain of water opening from the gathering clouds that managed to be thin enough for moonlight to glow through. Yamamoto glanced at Gokudera to see the man smiling at this radiance. But in the Japanese man's eyes, Gokudera had been releasing his own. Green light. Go. Go.
Once they parked, it was a dash to the front door. Fumble of slippery wet keys. Stumble inside from muddy shoes. Strip the shoes off. The jackets. Gokudera complained of his cold shirt.
"Change," Yamamoto suggested, heading to his room to do just that.
The silver-haired man did so as well then they met again, in fresh clothing, in the living room where they watched old television, laughing and reminiscing until they fell asleep. Gokudera's head on Yamamoto's shoulder. And an unknowing Gokudera with Yamamoto's heart in his hands.