Central Park was one of Kurt and Blaine's absolute favorite places in all of New York City to go. It had just changed from winter to spring, and the boys were chomping at the bit to get out of the loft and into the fresh air. It wasn't even forty five degrees outside, but they were making the best of it.
"I'm freezing," Kurt complained. He unlaced his fingers from Blaine's and stuffed his hands into his pockets.
"We're only two blocks from the subway. We'll be warm soon," Blaine said. They passed a few families hurrying their children along, all heading for their respective subway stations, or on the walk back home.
"Has it gotten darker outside?" Kurt asked Blaine.
"I think so. It's a lot cloudier," Blaine said. "They didn't predict rain today." Blaine was right: the weathermen hadn't predicted rain, but he knew they were wrong when the first giant clap of thunder sounded and the skies opened up. They quickened their pace almost to a jog.
"Did you bring an umbrella?" Kurt asked Blaine.
"No, it wasn't supposed to rain," Blaine replied. They were basically shouting over the pound of the rain around them. They made it into the subway station, looked at each other, and laughed. "You look like a drowned rat," Blaine said to Kurt.
"Oh, like you look any better," Kurt said. They laughed all the way back to the loft, where they each made a mug of tea, changed into dry clothes, and curled up on the couch for a movie.