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It was raining, that warm drizzle that took over Ohmtown in the late days of August. By night, it always turned to storms, that ozone smell so thick you could taste it, so strong it came out of your pores, but the afternoons were okay. Still humid, enough to turn the most hot-blooded rockers of the town supine and languid. Even they couldn’t help but be content, watching the sun showers wash the town rose and gold. Most of them, anyway.
“This sucks.”
Dizzy wrinkled his nose, a lock of orange hair slipping through his fingers. He was on the last plait, too. Omar couldn’t resist throwing off concentration, or a nice atmosphere, even when he wasn’t trying. Arm hanging listlessly off the edge of the couch, his head in Diz’s lap and full of little braids, he was still full of vitriol.
“What does?” Not like he didn’t know. It was the same thing Omar complained about all year, just with seasonal flavors, summer daze turning his rants to laments. Dizzy combed his fingers through and started on the braid again, the first plait black with Omar’s roots he’d been too lazy to touch up.
“This,” Omar repeated. “There’s nothin’ to do.” His lips barely moved, voice a mumble over raindrops. “Not even any shows going on.” His lashes fluttered, eyes shifting around the room as if searching for another annoyance. “...And it’s hot.” Dizzy chuckled. Omar might find room to complain in the calm before the storm, but it was still subdued. Something childish even in the knit of brows, tired and pouting.
Dizzy slipped the hair tie off his wrist and looped it around twice. “What’re you doin’?” Omar lifted his head, tugging on one of the braids. Diz chuckled again, eyes happy crescents behind round lenses. “You should let me do it before our next show. It’s quite beguiling, really.” “I don’t even know what that means.” Omar laid back down and rolled over to look at Dizzy. Blinking in the sun from the sliding door, his lips set into a hard line, as if he were about to chase that with a trademark one-liner, then let it go. Still smiling, Dizzy brushed thick bangs out of his eyes, some stubborn orange strands clinging to his nose.
It was five minutes before Omar piped up again. “Seriously, this bites.” “Glad you enjoy our time together, Omar.” “Not this.” His voice rose above a grumble, that angry hiss creeping in, and Dizzy couldn’t help but feel touched. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to his forehead, prompting a low grunt. “Idiot,” Omar murmured, rolling back onto his side, hair braided back and unable to hide his flush.
“You know, it might do you good to just enjoy things sometimes.” “I am enjoying this. You done pushing it?” Dizzy traced a finger round the half-circle of Omar’s ear in response. The rain became a steady pour, bright ray of sunshine fading to a soft glow. He listened as Omar’s breathing slowed. Watched his eyelids droop, lips parted lazily. Hands going from loose fists to slack. As he drifted off, Dizzy thought he caught the barest curve of a smile. Then again, that might be pushing it.