Nick isn't quite sure how he feels about rain.
He knows he doesn't much like being caught out in it - it's like an involuntary icy cold shower, and it makes his curls stick flat to his head and his clothes feel sticky and gross until they dry. But when he's safely indoors, watching and listening to the rain is kind of nice. Calming. Relaxing. He likes it, sometimes.
It's just that for reasons he's never been quite sure of, rain always makes him think of Miley.
To some degree almost everything in life makes him think of Miley, which is a problem he's working on (honestly, he is). But for whatever reason when it rains he thinks about her more than usual. Thinks about how much she loved the rain and how they used to dance out in it together, how they used to curl up in a blanket all snuggled up and warm while they listened to the rain against the windows and how he'd always thought that, right then with her in his arms and her hair tickling his cheek and her scent all around him, it sounded like the most beautiful melody he'd ever heard.
There's one particular memory though that always strikes him when it rains. It was nearly two years ago now and it was such a small moment, but the way she looked that day had burned into his memory with more detail than almost anything else ever had. It wasn't raining that day. It was sunny and cool out, and the sky was bright but her blue eyes were so dull, so different when she looked at him. He remembers the way her long dark hair looked blowing so slightly in the breeze and he remembers the way he'd felt when he watched her boyfriend tuck a lock of it behind her ear for her. He remembers how he sat and ran his fingers across the back of his other hand a few times, thinking about the way her hair had felt back when he'd been the one allowed to touch it.
He remembers watching her leave arm-in-arm with someone else, remembers feeling like he was drowning, like he couldn't breathe. And he remembers that when she'd looked back at him, with dull eyes and the smallest, saddest hint of a smile, he'd thought that right at that moment he felt like rain.
And it was probably one of the weirdest thoughts he'd ever had and it didn't even make any sense, but nothing else made any sense either right then and it seemed like the only way to describe the feeling. And still to this day when he thinks about her, when he remembers particularly painful things or when he listens to the rain beat against the windows all wrapped up in a blanket by himself, that's how he feels.
He can't think of any other way to describe it. It feels like rain.
He doesn't know why he's awake at barely five in the morning, listening to the heavy rainfall against the windows and trying to watch it, too, but mostly staring blankly into the darkness outside. He's not usually such an early riser, not when he doesn't have anything planned for the day. But for some reason he's found himself wide awake, wrapped up in a blanket on the couch watching the rain and thinking about Miley. Elvis, not very thrilled about being up so early either, is curled up asleep on the floor in front of him, breathing deeply and slowly and making Nick feel like at least he's not completely and utterly alone.
Alone. He'd gotten so used to being alone that now it kind of feels a bit strange when he isn't, and he doesn't know if he's ever heard anything sadder than that. He figures that Olivia would come over if he called her, but he doesn't. He doesn't want to wake her up and, whether he admits it to himself or not, he doesn't want to share his blanket with her.
He's not cold at all but he's curled up like a cat as if he's freezing to death, and the rain is getting faster and harder and drumming against the windows with a steady bum-bum-bum sound. It reminds him of the way his heart had sounded in his ears the last time he'd told Miley that he loved her. It reminds him of the way she used to kiss him, hard and fast and passionate and like nothing else mattered.
He breathes in and then out, slow and steady. He wonders if she kisses her alleged husband-to-be the very same way.
Bum-bum-bum-bum-bum-bum-bum.
He thinks the way he'd kissed Miley has always been different from the way he kisses anyone else. He remembers leaning into it more, tilting his head farther to the side. He remembers how every time their lips touched it felt like time had stopped and nothing in the world mattered besides her. He remembers thinking that he could feel those sparks everyone always talked about, that this had to be how it felt when a person kissed their soulmate.
He tries so, so hard to feel that way with other girls, but he never has. Joe keeps telling him that he just has to find the right one, but that's not what he wants to hear anymore. He's been looking for that right girl for so long and he's exhausted. And he's scared, too. Because he tries so hard to be in love with Olivia, and she's beautiful and smart and kind and she's fucking Miss Universe, for God's sake, and he likes her a lot and he likes not being alone, but when he kisses her he just feels like...like he's kissing someone. Not like he's in the middle of a tornado or jumping out of a plane or doing something equally as thrilling the way he'd always felt when he kissed Miley. It doesn't feel like time has stopped or like they're the only two people in the world. It feels like they're kissing and then they're done. And it's not as if it's an unpleasant experience, he likes kissing her, it's just that there's no...spark.
He's absolutely positive that when he finds the girl he's meant to be with, he'll feel those sparks. He'll feel like they're the only two people in the world. And it scares him to death because if Miss Universe isn't his right girl, then who the hell is? What if the girl he's meant to be with isn't even out there, or what if he never finds her?
What if he already found her and he let her get away?
A sudden crack of thunder in the distance makes him jump a bit, and Elvis lifts his head up for a moment before deciding it's not worth it and resting it back down on his front paws. Nick leans down and pets him, grateful for his company. Maybe he doesn't need to find the right girl. Maybe he could just get a couple more dogs.
Maybe he could go lay outside with his mouth open and drown himself.
A flash of lightning lights up the room for a split second and he notices his phone lying on the end table a few feet away, where he'd hooked it up to charge last night. Bored, he wiggles out of his blanket cocoon and walks over to grab it, and then flops back down on the couch and snuggles back into his blanket. His place still smells like him, not like Olivia yet, and he feels really disgusting when he realizes he's kind of relieved. He thinks about that box in the back of his closet where he keeps all the things he's not supposed to still have, about how it smells just like Miley and makes him feel like he's fifteen and in love and everything is going to be okay. He wishes the whole place smelled like her.
He wishes he wasn't so pathetic.
He fiddles with his phone for a few minutes, reads and rereads a few texts and tries to pretend he's keeping himself busy, but he knows exactly why he'd grabbed his phone and no matter how much he knows he shouldn't, he finds himself playing the song again.
It's such a pretty song, probably prettier than anything the general public had thought she was still capable of. But they don't know her, not really. None of them know how beautiful and pure her soul is.
Sometimes he wonders if she even knows anymore.
Elvis picks his head up at the sound of the music and gives Nick a look he swears is judgmental.
"Oh, shut up," he mumbles, turning to look back out the window. The song mixed with the sound of the rain is one of the most beautiful things he's ever heard.
All you ever did was wreck me. He wonders if she knows how very, very much he could say the same thing to her.
It's still too dark to see much of anything outside, but he stares out the window anyway and he thinks about how her laughter had sounded over the sound of the rain hitting the pavement, how he'd spun her around and pulled her close to him and how she'd given him the biggest, brightest smile she was capable of and how the rain was cold but he felt so warm and how he hadn't cared that his curls were stuck to his head or that his clothes felt gross, because he was with her and that was all that mattered.
He wonders if she still does it, dances out in the rain. Maybe she'd since grown out of it, decided it was too childish or embarrassing or whatever else. Or maybe, like him, she feels like it's too sacred to do it alone or with someone else, like it was something special between them. He'd used to hope that was the case, that he'd left an impression on her just as much as she'd done on him, that she'd never wanted to share that with someone else. But now, as he looks out the window and thinks about how she looked with her hair in strings and her nose scrunched up while she laughed, he hopes she still dances in the rain all the time. It had always seemed to make her so happy.
He swallows, watching the few raindrops he can see race each other down the window. He hopes that every chance she gets she dances out in the rain with someone who makes her feel loved and he hopes she still smiles just as big. She deserves to.
He fiddles with his phone and plays the song on repeat a few more times. And he doesn't know what's gotten into him, but he pulls up her number in his contacts and stares at her name long and hard and then before he can lose his nerve, he texts her that he thinks her new song is beautiful. And then he puts his phone down on the couch beside him and closes his eyes and listens to the music and he has that weird feeling again, the one that feels like rain. He doesn't expect her to respond.
She doesn't.
He can't figure out how to tell Olivia that she's making him uncomfortable.
He's crammed into the corner of a too-small booth in some dumb little diner he really doesn't want to be at, and she's way closer than she needs to be and she won't stop touching him. And it's not like he has some objection to her touching him in general, he doesn't, but they're out in public and they haven't been dating for very long and people are staring and he really just doesn't think it's necessary for them to be touching constantly and he doesn't know how to say that she's making him feel weird. She's acting hyper or jumpy or something, moving her hands on him every fifteen seconds, rubbing his arm and grabbing his hand and playing with his hair and leaning her head on his shoulder, and she doesn't even seem to notice how stiff he is. He doesn't think there's a polite way to say stop fucking touching me you're driving me nuts and if there is he can't figure it out and he's biting down hard on his lip, about thirty seconds away from screaming right there in the middle of the damn restaurant that he wants her to stop.
He doesn't even know what his problem is, why his girlfriend's touch is making him so uncomfortable. He knows he wishes she would sit the hell still but even during the moments when she is, when she's just resting her hand on his arm, he feels the need to shift away from her. He wants so bad to tell her that it's too much PDA for him, that everyone knows they're there together and it's really not necessary for her hands to be on him like she's claiming her territory or something. But he doesn't want to make a scene in front of everyone and he doesn't want to fuck up and upset her, because he's more scared than he'd like to admit that if he doesn't keep her happy she'll dump him and then he'll be alone again and he's so, so tired of being alone.
The six of them are sharing a booth that feels like it was made for four - Kevin, Dani, and Joe on one side and Nick, Olivia, and Blanda on the other. He'd figured at first that the two more established couples would be the ones to snuggle up and he and Olivia would sit across from each other, but she'd all but shoved him into the booth first and then followed him in and now he's pretty much stuck. Across from them Kevin has his arm slung around Dani like it's meant to be there, and she leans into his touch so naturally. Nick wonders if he'll ever have that again. If he'll ever feel so natural and normal and comfortable with a girl that every touch comes on its own, and he won't have to remind himself that he's supposed to hold her hand or put his arm around her or give her a kiss, he'll just automatically do it because it feels right.
He takes a deep, slow breath in and then out, staring at the salt shaker like it's the most interesting thing in the world. He doesn't want to think about shit like that today.
He doesn't want to think about Miley.
Joe's telling some story that has all of them in stitches, and he laughs along even though he's been so caught up in thought he has no idea what his brother's been saying. Olivia's laughter is too loud in his ear, sounding forced and deliberate and he shifts a little bit, trying to get more personal space but he's already pressed as close to the wall as he can possibly be. He feels like he needs air.
He tries hard to listen to Joe's story but it's apparently not nearly as funny when you come in halfway through it, so instead he just looks around the diner for a bit, taking in all the different types of people. At one table there's a family with five kids, talking loudly and making a mess and all looking happy to be there together. At another there's a group of teenage girls who keep looking over at Nick and his brothers, taking pictures of them on their phones and giggling and whispering and trying to pretend they're not staring.
To his slight surprise he finds that he's quite enjoying people watching. There's a gang of biker dudes in one corner and beside them a woman sitting alone, wearing a tie-dyed shirt with hair so long she's sitting on it and reading a book with a big peace sign on the back cover.
It's the table next to hers that catches his attention, though. Two kids, probably thirteen or fourteen, looking a little out of place and smiling at each other in that awkward, sweet way that makes it obvious they're on their first date. The girl's leg is bouncing and she keeps reaching up to fiddle with her hair, and the boy's twisting his hands in his lap and stopping every few minutes to wipe them on his jeans as if they're sweating ridiculously.
Nick smiles softly, remembering doing the same thing. He watches the kids for what feels like a long time but probably isn't, and it gives him the weirdest gentle, nostalgic feeling and when the girl rests her hand on the table and the boy reaches out and takes it, he feels like he's happy and sad at the same time.
He feels like rain.
Because he remembers it all so well, how nervous he'd been and how much he liked her and wanted to impress her and wanted to make her smile, and how proud of himself he'd felt when he did. How when he held her hand for the first time it felt like they fit perfectly together and how he knew it would be the beginning of the most important thing he'd ever been a part of.
He watches as the girl laughs at something the boy said, and he looks so happy and pleased with himself that Nick can't help but smile big. And he knows these kids think this date is the biggest, most important deal ever, just like he had. And he knows they think they know so much about the world and life and love and he knows they have no idea how much they have left to learn.
He snaps to attention when he notices a plate being placed in front of him, and he thanks the waitress and wonders how long he'd been lost in thought that way. He finally wiggles out of Olivia's grasp, and when she looks at him he gestures that he needs his arm to eat and that seems to satisfy her, and he feels so guilty at how relieved it makes him feel. He glances over at the kids one last time and they're still holding hands, smiling at each other like nothing else in the world is important. He hopes with all his heart that love will be so much kinder to both of them than it's been to him.
It's raining again.
It's been going on for hours and there doesn't seem to be an end in sight, and rain is drumming against the windows harder and faster than it has in a long time, bum-bum-bum-bum-bum-bum-bum-bum, and it's making him feel like nothing in the world is more important than sitting on the floor beside the back door wrapped up in that blanket and staring out at the falling rain. He doesn't know how long he's been here like this, just listening and watching and breathing in and, like always, thinking about Miley.
It's the kind of rainstorm that makes him think about the saddest days, the day they broke up and the first day he saw her cry and the day he found out she was going to marry someone else and all the bad days in between. And of course, still there in his mind is that one day almost two years ago, that unimportant memory he's never been able to shake.
In the oddest way, though, it's the kind of rainstorm that makes him think about their happiest days, too. The first time they said I love you and the time he flew out to LA and surprised her and the days they spent tangled up in the sheets in Tybee and all the days with her that he spent feeling loved and content and found. And he just sits there and thinks about it all, about all the times they hurt each other and all the times that made it all worth it, about the sound of her laugh and the smell of her hair and the way she'd looked at him like he was the only person in the world that mattered. He thinks the rain is the perfect soundtrack for all of it.
He jumps in surprise when his phone buzzes and considers ignoring it, but the always sensible part of him knows it could be something important so he sighs and leans over to grab it. And then he just stares at the screen for what feels like an hour, because he doesn't know what else to do.
Miley.
He's almost scared, honestly. Last time Miley called him it was to tell him she was engaged. Calling each other just because wasn't really something they did anymore. For a split second he contemplates just letting it ring, but then he thinks about hearing her beautiful voice and he can't stop himself from answering it.
"Hello?" He doesn't mean for it to come out so shaky.
There's a long moment of silence and then: "Hey."
He blinks. "Hey," he says back softly.
Silence.
He's dying to know why she called and he almost asks her, but he can't find a gentle way to say it and he doesn't want to make her think that he doesn't want to talk to her and -
"How have you been?" Her voice is so small, so unlike her.
"Uh, good," he says. "You?"
"Good."
He has no idea what's happening. They'd just exchanged pleasantries like this a couple weeks ago at that dumb awards show, they didn't really need to do it again. She must have called for a reason and he's getting more and more anxious and he looks back out the window and focuses on the wet green grass. He feels like rain again.
"I, um..." He hears her swallow and he knows she's thinking hard about what to say, "I'm really glad you liked the song. I, uh, I got your text. I just couldn't really think of a way to reply and...yeah."
He hates how awkward they are around each other now, how they have to think so much about everything they say when it had all once been so natural.
"I love it," he says, almost as a whisper, "It's beautiful."
"Thanks."
They're both silent for who knows how long, him looking out at the rain and her, if he still knows her at all, probably picking at her nails and pacing around the room.
"So..." he says finally, desperately attempting to get things rolling. He hears her take a deep breath.
"I, um...I called because I was wondering if..." She sounds so nervous and small and he just wishes he could hold her in his arms, "I was wondering if you wanted to, like, hang out sometime soon."
He blinks, swallows. He's sure he must have heard her wrong.
"What?" He doesn't mean to say that but it's all that he can think. She chuckles a little, ever so slightly, and it makes him think of how she used to laugh when they danced out in the rain together and he feels a little like he's going to throw up, but not really in a bad way.
"Yeah, sudden, I know," she says. "But I just...miss you."
He doesn't think he's breathing.
"And I kind of...I'm not really a stranger to losing friendships," she goes on, sounding a bit strained. "And I always figure that if someone wants to reach out to me they will, and then they never do. And I'm done doing that now and I just really missed you so...I'm reaching out to you instead."
She sounds like she's either crying or about to start and the thought hurts him more than it probably should.
"I'm glad you did," he tells her, and it comes out sounding like a promise, "I'd love to hang out with you." She has no idea how much.
"Do you think..." He can hear her taking deep breaths in and out, "Do you think your girlfriend will get mad?"
He feels more disgusted with himself than he ever has in his life when his first thought is what girlfriend?
"It's none of her business who I hang out with," he says after a moment, still shocked at himself. It's just that Miley makes him forget about everything in the world but her, and he'd kind of been hoping he was finally starting to outgrow that but he guesses he isn't.
He wonders how much the whole girlfriend thing has to do with Miley calling him out of the blue. For a moment he thinks maybe she was hoping he would tell her it was just a rumor, that he was single...but he knows he's probably kidding himself.
But he feels like it gives him the right to ask: "Uh, what about...yours?"
He hears her swallow sharply, almost a gulp. "He won't, uh, he doesn't...we're not really..."
Her tone tells him everything and he can't decide how he feels about it or this conversation or his entire life and he takes deep breaths and watches the rain. "Oh. I'm, uh, I'm sorry."
There's a pause and when she speaks again he can tell she's smiling just a tiny bit, "Don't be. So do you wanna, like...come over soon?"
He watches one particular raindrop run all the way down the glass door before he says, "Why don't you come over to my place? The press don't really hang around here too much and I've got a killer view, too."
She laughs a little bit, and he feels just as proud of himself as he had that very first time. "Sounds good."
He gives her his address and they set the date for two days from now, and his heart is pounding loud in his ears and so is the bum-bum-bum of the rain as they tell each other goodbye.
And he doesn't know how long he sits there on the floor after that, staring out at the rain and thinking about a million things at once, still holding his phone in his hand. He comes back to reality when he feels Elvis nudging his shoulder, and when he turns to look at him the dog whines a bit, looking towards the door.
"Really?" Nick deadpans, "Now?"
Elvis whines again so he stands up, rolling his eyes as he opens the door and watches his dog run out into the rain. He's still standing there looking out when his phone buzzes again.
Olivia.
He stares at it for a long, long while and thinks about a lot of things and he only feels a little bad when he finally presses ignore. Tomorrow he'll call her, tell her that the sound of the rain had made him tired and he'd fallen asleep on the couch. Today, he has more important things to do.
He feels one corner of his mouth twitch up into the smallest grin, and he tosses his phone behind him onto the couch. And then he opens the door and steps outside and all alone, for the first time in years, he dances in the rain.
So basically don't ever think I'm gonna write something about rain and then listen to the rainymoodsongs version of Taylor Swift's All Too Well in between listening to Wrecking Ball, because this will happen. I planned for this to be a oneshot, but then it kind of got away from me and I added in a bunch of stuff and I just decided it would work better in two parts instead, and as cheesy as that ending is I thought it would be a good place to leave things. Part two should be done and posted really soon. Probably. Hopefully. Reviews might help.
Also, props to the three or four people who sent me drabble prompts on tumblr. I'm still working on them, but they really did help me get back into writing so thank you!
