A/N: Another Christine/Meg piece, because I'm rather intrigued by them. Enjoy.

"Stand in the Rain"

"Stand in the rain with me."

"I hate the rain."

"Why?"

"I just do." Arms fold over a chest in a huff.

Hands and fingers ply and pry, trying to coax arms and spirit out. "Come on, it'll be fun."

"I'll get all wet." A pout, full bottom lips protruding slightly. It is an art form, and never before has it been ignored.

A laugh. "That's the point." A tug on an arm, and then another, and another.

Resistance. "No! I don't want—"

Two bodies suddenly out in the deluge, cold water stinging on warm, exposed skin of shoulders and neck.

"Does your Maman know where we are?"

"She doesn't need to." It is evasive, quiet. Silence. Then: "This isn't so bad. Why do you hate the rain so?"

A head tilts back, brown curls a little closer to the ground. "It rained the day Papa died."

Sympathetic eyes meet downcast ones as a hand takes another. "I'm sorry, I didn't know."

A sigh. "It's all right."

Two bodies meet in a tight, wet embrace, the rain still stinging, clothes and hair and skin all damp, breath condensing in the heavy silence.

Lips touch a cheek, and the ritual is reversed, lingering a little longer this second time, blonde bangs meeting the creamy skin of another's forehead for a moment.

"We should go inside, before either of us catches cold."

They part, link arms, make their way up the steps, back inside the glistening halls of the Opera.