The rain pitter-patters on the windows, unassuming and gentle in the quiet early morning. The house is soundless in a way only old houses can be—it must be. Nezumi knows because he has laid in the silence of Raum’s home countless times. He also knows his urgent knocking—banging—on Raum’s door must echo angrily through the cold, dim spaces.
“What took you so long!?” Nezumi growls when Raum finally opens the door. He stands with both hands pressed demandingly into the doorframe, dripping water and glaring. His eyes are simmering with something between rage and desperation.
Nezumi invites himself in. He marches past Raum and tugs irritably at his scarf. The soaked fabric gets caught and Nezumi growls and yanks it harder.
From the corner of his eye he catches Raum’s hand. Perhaps, Raum wants to help. Or he wants to kick Nezumi out. Either way, Nezumi wants none of it.
“Don’t—!” He snaps, whips around and grabs Raum’s hand. He intended to slap it away but his fingers latch onto Raum’s wrist instead, holding tight like a drowning man grips a branch.
Their eyes meet, and Nezumi’s fingers tighten. His breath shakes from the effort, and his body follows suit.
“Why are you even up?” Nezumi gripes accusingly. He moves closer. His other hand goes for Raum’s lapel. “—and why do you never turn the fucking heating on? It’s cold like hell in here.”
In contrast with the stone cold of the house, Nezumi is practically sizzling. His eyes glance at Raum’s mouth, then catch Raum’s gaze again. His upper lips twitches as Nezumi fights back a sneer. He’s teetering on the edge of something—hot hunger burns in his eyes. All he needs is an excuse.
He knows the minute Nezumi passes the garden gate.
Raum listens to the rain patter on his windowpanes. He is in the sitting room, but his eyes are closed. If anyone were to see him, he could be mistaken for having fallen asleep in the armchair — but he’s perfectly alert.
A crow perched on an overgrown tree in his garden watches Nezumi hastily ascend the path, soaked but not shivering. His movements are stiff, and as he almost trips over a stray nettle plant, Raum tilts his head and the crow follows suit. He listens more deeply. He attunes himself with Nezumi’s core, hearing the dim melody inside him thump with suppressed rage.
He knows, vaguely, what might happen when Nezumi crosses the threshold, and feels a little sprig of excitement when he hears the doorframe rattle, a fist pounding against the thick, old wood.
Raum rises calmly, taking his time to lock Solomon in the adjacent room before moving to answer the door.
The approaching storm is a few hours away yet, but Nezumi drags it inside the house with him, wild and abundant, as he invites himself in. It seems as if he couldn’t help himself from coming — inevitably blowing in Raum’s direction like a weathervane.
“Would you prefer I hadn’t answered?” He asks curtly in return, despite his body going through the practiced motions of politeness, reaching for Nezumi’s coat, his scarf.
He’s expecting to be batted away — Nezumi’s annoyance tends to ward off others like a forcefield — but finds himself in a wet grip instead. They pause in that same breath, a barely perceptible tremor. The silent, anticipatory gap between thunder and lightning.
Nezumi speaks and his questions bounce against the tiled walls in the hallway, unanswered. Why? Why? . . . It’s all a meaningless babble compared to the way he looks at Raum — all tense, big-eyed, like an animal. The cold open door behind him. Water dripping below him. Bait. It’s bait.
Raum tuts at him, peels Nezumi’s fingers away from his lapel like one might a clingy child. He has to fight a smirk as he does it, seeing Nezumi sneer openly in response. He enjoys this part. He really does.
His palm presses rudely over Nezumi’s mouth.
“Are you quite done having this tantrum?” Raum demands, doing exactly as he originally intended, as if Nezumi hadn’t interrupted him at all. He untangles Nezumi’s damp scarf with one hand, the one that still had him locked around it like a handcuff.
He looks up when Nezumi says mm-mmmpf! and bites him — not gently, either. Still, it doesn’t hurt. Just a low hint of a laugh escapes under Raum’s breath. Quickly, now.
“Alright, alright.” His fingers squeeze Nezumi’s jaw, hand twisting around the scarf to yank him properly inside, up to his expectant arms, lips — harsh, affectionate. “Come here.”
The door slams shut behind them.
