Hakkai hears them as he throws open the kitchen window to catch the fresh air, and hates them. It is a hate full of bloody edges, honed by recent memory.
First, that anyone could delight so much in the rain.
Second, that they can sing so well about it.
Third, that they do it while he is still in pain.
By the time that Gojou comes staggering home that evening, the pond has faded from scarlet to dull brown.
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