Percussion of Rain Against Bronze

The rain was a solid wall of water, drumming a frantic, chaotic rhythm on the umbrella Marcus held over them. Sam watched it sluice off the brim of the Mad Hatter’s hat, turning the dark bronze slick and shiny. They were pressed close together, shoulder to shoulder, close enough for Sam to feel the warmth radiating from Marcus’s arm through the thin fabric of his own damp jacket. It was an intimacy that felt mocking, given the glacial silence that had stretched between them for the last ten minutes.

The fight had been stupid, as most of their fights were. It had started over Marcus’s casual mention of applying to a university in California and had spiralled from there, fuelled by Sam’s fear and Marcus’s frustration at being misunderstood. The unspoken things had been said. Words like ‘leaving’ and ‘forgetting’ and ‘what’s the point’ had been thrown like stones. Now, they were left with the wreckage, stranded on a tiny island of dryness in a drowning world.

Sam focused on the statue. Alice, serene and oblivious, sat at the head of the table. She didn’t seem to mind the rain. He wondered what she was thinking about. Probably not about how one person’s future could feel like a threat to another’s. He risked a sideways glance at Marcus. His jaw was set, his knuckles white where he gripped the umbrella handle. He was staring straight ahead, his profile sharp and unhappy against the grey, blurry backdrop of the storm-lashed park.

The silence was getting heavier, more suffocating than the humid air. It needed to be broken. Sam knew it was up to him. Marcus was stubborn; his anger would curdle into a bruised silence he could hold for days. Sam was the diplomat, the one who smoothed things over. But the usual easy apology felt wrong, a cheap plaster on a wound that needed to be properly cleaned.

“The water makes it look like he’s crying,” Sam said, his voice quiet, almost lost in the percussive drumming of the rain. He nodded towards the March Hare.

Marcus blinked, as if pulled from a trance. He followed Sam’s gaze. Sure enough, a steady trickle of rainwater was running from the corner of the bronze hare’s eye down its cheek.

“Guess he heard us,” Marcus mumbled, his voice rough. It was a start.

“He’s not the only one,” Sam replied, a little bolder now. He looked at Marcus directly. “I shouldn’t have said that. About you wanting to get away from me.”

Marcus let out a long breath, the tension in his shoulders easing almost imperceptibly. He finally turned to look at Sam, his expression pained. “And I shouldn’t have said it was just university. As if it’s nothing.” He shook his head, a gesture of self-disgust. “It’s not nothing. It’s three thousand miles.”

There it was. The real fear, laid bare. Not the anger, but the distance. The number. Three thousand miles of space that would insert itself between them. All of Sam’s carefully constructed arguments, all his defensive anger, dissolved in the face of Marcus’s raw vulnerability.

“I’m scared,” Marcus admitted, his voice cracking on the last word. He looked away again, embarrassed. “I’m bloody terrified, Sam. Of going. Of not going. I didn't know how to say it without it sounding like… like I was saying goodbye.”

An unexpected wave of tenderness washed over Sam, so strong it almost knocked him off his feet. He reached out, his fingers finding the back of Marcus’s hand where it held the umbrella. He didn't say anything, just rested his hand there, a silent statement. *I’m here. I’m scared too.*

Marcus’s fingers relaxed under his, uncurling from their tight grip. He didn't pull away. They stood like that for a long moment as the storm began to lose its fury. The deafening roar softened to a steady drumming, then a gentle patter. The wall of water became a translucent curtain.

A sliver of pale sun broke through the clouds, and the wet park was suddenly, dazzlingly bright. Droplets clinging to the bronze statues glittered like a thousand tiny jewels. The air smelled clean and new. Marcus finally lowered the umbrella.

“It’s not goodbye,” Sam said, his voice firm, meeting Marcus’s gaze. “Not yet.”

Marcus managed a small, watery smile. “Not yet.”