Zeke's mouth left Casey's hot when he pulled away, and his face warm through the runnels of cold rain where his hands framed it as he looked down and laughed. The sudden downpour was nearly loud enough to wash away the sound of his delight, but Casey didn't move even though he froze and drowned in the goddamn rain, because this was all that mattered. This, my fucking lover and his fucking heart, and nothing else. Just that smile and that laugh and that kiss, and these hands clasping, and the sudden surety that there'd be sex very soon, and the feeling of it cementing and becoming life, just plain old ordinary life. And the torrent of rain, and the growing weight of his coat, and the silver running through Zeke's hair and beard, and the cobbles of the street leading to their house by the platz, it was all part of just life.
And if the wound was still there, the scar of having torn away from everything, that was life, too. This is worth it, Zeke had said. He'd taken Casey's hand and squeezed it at the sound of the engines growing louder and that feeling of pushing rush as the plane rose, and they ran. Ran like dogs. No, Casey had told himself, as he still tells himself, you're not running. You're being chased. It still hurt, it always would, but now things were good and hot and Zeke had lost the bitterness and anger he'd carried with him all his life, and what did that mean but that this was worth it, all of it? Maybe it means you never belonged at all, he thinks. Maybe so, but maybe in not belonging there, he'd been led to the place where they did belong, together.
The rain came down even harder, and with a barely heard yell, Zeke grabbed his hand and then they were scurrying through the cold and the wet, laughing. A doorway, shelter, arms under jackets, another kiss. Fuck the U.S., Casey thought, as Zeke's breath moved hot over his cheek. Maybe someday they'd be welcome there again, but for now, this was all the home they'd ever need.