Spring is finally getting over a Canadian winter, getting past the cold. It's going just a little bit crazy after too long bundled or indoors and running wild, sloshing through soggy grass and getting dirty water everywhere.
It's Ray going outside without his jacket even though it's really not warm enough for that yet, just like he would when he was a kid and his mother told him not to. His boots crunch through the last of the snow and sink a little in the mud.
Spring is Ray getting caught in a sudden downpour, getting soaked through to his skin, sodden tee shirt plastered to his body and his hair flat and shiny, slicked against his forehead. It's Fraser peeling him out of his wet things, smelling damp-fresh-rain on him and licking at the rainwater dripping off his ears. Ray closes his eyes. His eyelashes are wet. He presses chilled, damp fingers against Fraser's neck.