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A rainy day

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Today was not your day. In fact, it was not your week. You’d been overworked at the shop doing over time (being short staffed sucked), you’d dropped your phone and smashed the screen and worst of all your age-old boots had developed holes. The last of those was the worst because it had just started to rain.

You sigh, looking up at the sky pulling the very un-waterproof hood of your hoodie over your head. It wasn’t much but you didn’t have an umbrella so it would have to do till you made it to the bus. Running through the streets to the stop was a challenge. You had to dodge everybody who was smart enough to bring umbrellas with them.

You had always liked the rain - the way it sounded against the windows of your tiny flat and the smell just before a downpour on a hot day - but today the rain was your enemy and so were the umbrellas. You pull your phone from your pocket, putting some music on to blast through your headphones in hopes it’ll distract you from the crowded streets and the fact that you’re absolutely soaked through.

At this point you’re rushing and the rain is getting heavier. The crowd shows no sign of letting up and you groan in frustration. It’s days like this that made you wish you’d learnt to drive.

Your head is down, your music is blaring and you’re focused. So focused you don't see the guy speeding towards you with an umbrella in one hand and a guitar case in the other. You both collide, his guitar case slides across the pavement as you stumble, almost falling to the ground. You manage to stay put but you’re flustered, your headphones hanging down out of your hoodie.

“Hey watch...watch where you’re-” the guy starts to shout in irritation as he picks up his guitar but he catches sight of you and he stops.

Your hood has fallen away from your head, the rain now pouring down through your hair and into your eyes.

You’re stood, soaking wet, staring at the stranger who almost knocked you over.

“I’m sorry! Is your guitar okay?” you say softly. He’s clutching his case in one arm and his umbrella in the other. It’s titled away from his head so the rain is drenching him. His messy hair is starting to fall into his face the wetter it gets but, he’s not moving the umbrella back to shield himself from the rain. He’s staring at you.

“Uh what?”

“Your guitar…”

“Oh! Uh.. Yeah.. um it’s, it’s all good… are you.. Are you okay, I didn’t knock you over did I?” He drops his guitar case gently, “Oh god, I’m sorry.” he says, reaching out almost instinctively to touch your arm.

You look up at him. He’s close now and you’re looking directly into his eyes. They’re a deep brown matching his hair… fuck, you were staring. You blush and look at the floor, “oh no, I’m fine… I managed to stop myself before I fell ov-“

“What’s that sound?” He cuts you off before you can finish your sentence.

“What?” He’s looking at you expecting an answer but you have no idea what he’s talking about.

“That sound, that music, is it yours?” He’s got a frantic look in his eyes, like something wild inside him has woken up, “it’s… umm it’s… DON'T tell me it’s… Stairway to Heaven, Led Zeppelin!”

You smile at him and nod, he was spot on. It was one of your favourite songs.

“I’m Dewey, by the way.” He holds his hand out for you to shake it, and you laugh softly and take it, “I’m…” you suddenly notice how drenched you are, “soaking wet…”

“Calm down, we’ve only just met!” Your eyes go wide and he panics, “I mean, you’re—I… ah sorry…”

You start to laugh, “Relax, Dewey. I’m Y/N.” He lets go of your hand and picks up his guitar. The umbrella that he been holding by his side moves towards you as he extends it out to shelter you from the rain, “well, Y/N care to join me under my rain shield?”

“Your rain shield?” You laugh again. He was actually really sweet… funny as well and you liked that.

He asks where you were headed and you tell him the bus stop, although you’d probably missed your bus now. Dewey apologises to you and suggests the two of you go grab a coffee while you wait for your next bus, to get you out of the rain. You’re a little hesitant at first but he convinces you by saying he’ll pay.

What you don’t know is that he was hoping for it to be a sort of date. Bumping (literally) into you was the best thing that could’ve happened to Dewey that day. He had been on the way to band practice but band practice could wait. He wanted to talk to you some more, get to know you because god, he could sit and listen to you talk all day. Plus, he made you laugh and he liked having someone laugh at his stupid jokes.

He leads the way and when he announces you’ve arrived… you’re not at a coffee shop. “This is the Roadhouse…” you say, a little unsure.

“Oh ho, So you’ve been here little miss naughty?” He grins at you and you blush hard. Why did the word ‘naughty’ sound so good coming out of this strangers mouth?

You explain that you came here once or twice before you got a full time job but you’ve never had the time to come again.

“Then today, is your lucky day,” he holds open the door for you, “entre into the best bar in town!”

You walk in and you’re immediately hit with the smell of whiskey and cigarettes. You close your eyes and breath it in. It smells like what life used to smell like before you had to get a job, before you were tied down with responsibilities and bills.

Dewey grabs hold of your arm and leads you to a dimly lit booth in the corner of the bar. Motioning to the bartender, he yells and orders a pitcher before you can even protest.

“Uh uh uh, you can’t come into the Roadhouse and not have a pitcher. It’s absolutely against the rules!” He looks dead serious and you know there’s no use arguing.

Dewey starts talking to you about the Roadhouse and how him and his band used to play here. He keeps talking and while he rambles, you get distracted by every detail of him - his scruffy un-ironed shirt and the loosely tied tie around his neck, the way he says certain words and the way his lips move as he speaks about his passions. You’d only just met but honestly, he was fantastic and just your type… it was like… fate.

When the pitcher arrives, he pours you both a glass and raises his drink, “to fate!” You blink, had he read your mind?

“What?”

“Uh… I, it’s just, it felt like fate running into you ya know? I literally knocked you off your feet.” He wiggles his eyebrows at you making you laugh again.

“I never fell, actually.” You state, still laughing.

His face goes serious once again and he raises as eyebrow, “oh really?”

Your heart skips a beat because even if you didn’t physically fall, this stranger was making his way into you heart piece by piece. You say nothing but you raise your glass and clink it against his, “to fate.”

Dewey smiles and brings the glass to his lips, chugging down half. You attempt to do the same but you end up coughing. It was going to be a long night if you were going to keep up with him.

Hours pass, you’re not sure how many but, you’d definitely missed the last bus back to your flat now. Thank god you didn’t have to do a shift tomorrow. You’re more than a little tipsy, standing on the chair in the booth, singing a song by KISS at the top of your lungs.

“I WAS MADE FOR LOVIN’ YOU BABY! YOU WERE MADE FOR LOVIN’ MEEE!” Dewey gets up and joins in, just as enthusiastically and you sing together, “AND I CAN'T GET ENOUGH OF YOU BABY, CAN YOU GET ENOUGH OF ME!”

He dramatically jumps off the seat next to you, and looks up at you to continue singing, “TONIGHT! I WANNA GIVE IT ALL TO YOU! IN THE DARKNESS, THERE’S SO MUCH I WANNA DO…”

He stops and pulls you down from the table gently, his whole demeanour changing from just a few moments ago. You’re giggling because you’ve had way too much to drink, but then again so has he.

He spins you round slowly despite the tempo of the song as he carries on, this time, his voice is lowered, it’s gentle and sweet, “tonight I want to lay it at your feet,” he pulls you close, and you drape your arms on his shoulders as he places his hands on your waist, swaying with you, “'Cause girl, I was made for you… girl, you were made for me…”

The song sounds SO right. The lyrics meant something in this moment and maybe that’s why Dewey had put it on - he was trying to speak to you through the music. Dewey’s voice drifts off into silence and for a moment you both stop still. You can feel your heart thudding to the beat of the music and your convinced it’s loud enough for him to hear. The song is still playing but it seems to dull and everything else filters out. All that exists is the moment between the two of you.

“You know…” you start, “I’ve not felt like this in years. I work a dead end job to pay my bills. I come home, I eat dinner and I go to bed and I do the same day in day out. I’d forgotten how much I love doing things like this…” your voice trails off and you look to the floor, a little embarrassed that you’ve just rambled about your sad life.

“Hey…” his voice is quiet but it’s still the only thing you can hear over the music, “listen,” he tilts your chin upwards to look at him, “I meant what I said. About fate. You know… this week has been, in a word, shitty and when you rushed into me and I had to stop for a second because I genuinely thought someone had sent me a miracle.”

You blush, “Dewey…” you start to protest but he shushes you, “No, Y/N, honestly. I believe in fate and right now this… this is it. YOU are it…” You bury your face into his chest, breathing in. He smells wonderful. You’re not sure whether it’s because you’re drunk or because you actually find him incredibly attractive. It’s probably the last bit because you were you kidding? You literally got lost in his eyes when you met.

The two of you stay in the same position for a moment as the song finishes and fades off. You pull your head back up to look at him. There’s no space between your bodies because you’re pressed right up against him, trying to get as close as you can to one another.

Dewey is breathing heavily but it’s almost calming, he doesn’t say anything but he moves his hands to cup your face. You let him lead the way and move your hands accordingly. He moves closer and you close your eyes as your lips meet.

This kiss is slow and perfect. He is softer and more gentle than you could’ve imagined and you let yourself melt into his embrace. You seem to be kissing forever, your bodies moving slowly with one another in some form of harmony.

Eventually, Dewey pulls back but not by much, his forehead is rested on yours and his speaks in a hushed tone, “I’m… I’m sorry I just couldn’t help myself…”

“Dewey, it’s okay, it’s okay.” You say and you mean it.

“You’re just… god, you’re just fucking amazing.”

“Dewey…” you’re really not great at taking compliments.

“Y/N. You are fucking amazing. I can’t believe the world has been hiding you from me for so many years.” You can’t help but smile.

You might be drunk but you were happy and content, here in this bar miles from your bed, in the arms of a stranger. Although, Dewey didn’t feel like a stranger anymore and you couldn’t care less about your bed because right now the only thing that mattered were his words and his arms around you.