The skies were grey as Ryouta waited.
It was always a blanket of greying clouds threatening to rain in the parks. Apparently Naturals liked that sort of thing, said it was more… well, natural. And maybe that meant Ryouta should like it too, but he lay there beneath the shapeless clouds thinking that even he, a Synthetic, knew that in the world before theirs it hadn’t always been rain and clouds.
He knew that the sun he loved to bask in was just as real, just as natural as the grey he was staring up into.
But he wasn’t here for the clouds and rain, or for the green grass that he lay upon, as lush as it was against his skin, or for the wind that wound through his hair, causing it to drop into his eyes.
No, Ryouta was here to wait.
He closed his eyes, wondering if it would make time go faster if he didn’t surround himself with such depressive scenery. He tried to think of the sun and of the sand. Of waves he could surf and of a breeze that smelt of salt. It wasn’t really something he was supposed to like, the pool versus the wild, untamed ocean, any true Synthetic would know what was proper, and yet Ryouta thought of the sea with its wild waves and dangerous depths.
And he waited.
He counted his breaths, drawing them in for seven counts, holding them for seven counts, and then releasing them in seven counts. It was a boring lot, but he’d been told it would help clear his mind. It did, but that meant he was all the more aware that he was still waiting. But he was unable to be cross. While Ryouta didn’t like to wait for things, much preferring instant gratification, he didn’t particularly mind not knowing when. Sometimes there was peace in the unknown. Sometimes it was better to just wait.
It would be worth the wait, he knew.
How long he waited, Ryouta wasn’t sure. But it didn’t matter when there was the press of fingers curling around his hand, a warm body suddenly besides his.
“Hey,” Yara hummed, breath warm on Ryouta’s cheek as he nosed in closer. “Sorry, I’m late. It looks like it might rain~.”