It was true that rain irritated Jack, at least at first. It seemed to him that he'd left a shower dripping, or laundry, or a sink. It filled his mind and confused him, and he never could be at ease until he realised that it was raining and had got that fact quite into his head. After that, he loved it.
Rain had meant being trapped in the house once, which had been terrible when he wanted to go outside and play, and worse when he grew to the age that meant being inside with her. And still some of his happiest memories were during the rain, when Mother had fallen asleep and Annabelle was happily supervising the construction of a pillow fort. They would listen to the heavy Welsh rain, fat drops that were easy to catch on your tongue, and either go out to taste it, Annabelle in her cheerful colours and Jack in his father's Wellingtons, or stay inside and let it lull them to sleep under a tangle of sheets.
Now, there was no reason not to love the rain. Rain meant staying inside all comfortable and sleepy, meant laziness and curling up on a couch or chair or bed with Avery or maybe Jake or tea or maybe a magazine or some combination of the four. Sometimes now it meant Annabelle, counting hippopotamuses between thunder and braiding her hair. Outside, it meant running and laughing, newspapers over heads that didn't help at all. It meant dancing or splashing in puddles in the park, and sometimes it meant running back to the flat with a soaking wet boy or two, all of their shirts transparent and sticking, school ties loose and hair dripping into eyes. And if that didn't lead to touching--fingers and lips chilled--then it led to hot showers or baths, and the touching would start there.
Jack remembers how it rained one day in Wales--not that it didn't always rain, and that was the problem--one day was exactly like the next day and the clouds in the sky clustered like sheep in the fields. One of these days Jack remembers standing out, as one of many, when Annabelle would not stop crying. Jack didn't know why she was crying, and it frustrated him to the point that he began to cry, too. They cried that one day, and the rain beat on the windows long after Annabelle was sleeping fitfully and Jack had run out of tears.
Jack thinks about how that happened, but not right now. Right now, Avery is putting all thoughts of sadness out of Jack's mind. Right now, there is rainwater rolling down Avery's neck, and Jack wants to lick it off. They're on a bench, their bench, and the rain is almost bad enough to run for home, but Jack is currently tasting the drops on Avery's neck, and then when they kiss, they drink each other and the rain. Jack opens his eyes briefly and sees how Avery's eyelashes are clumped with wet, and remembers how much he loves the rain.