Pluviophile
by Caerulus Lunira
I watch him as he traipses home from the high school. Most days he scowls, and scuffs his feet along the pavement. He walks reluctantly when the sun shines.
But when it's raining, he's alive.
I didn't know his name until I overheard it being spoken at the library. Ciel. I let it linger on my lips ever since. Ciel, Ciel, Ciel. I wish I knew his last name, but maybe it's for the best I don't. I'm sure I'd be searching the Internet far too much for him if I did. Phone numbers, addresses, any sort of record at all.
He's fourteen, a freshman. I'm seventeen. I don't go to school. I bartend for a living. Amazing what a fake ID can do for you. If I could, I'd invite him to my bar. But a fake ID can only stretch so far, and he looks like he's about twelve anyways.
He adores the rain so. His shoes have raindrops doodled all over, as do his notebooks and bag. He dances in the rain. I love watching him.
He's forever singing under his breath in that cute little alto voice of his about anything at all. I like to imagine he's a star singer in his school choir. I'd attend one of his shows, and give him a single rose after it was over. He'd be so smitten with me, he'd jump into my arms and smile, smile, smile. I never get to see him smile.
I dream of him all the time. Him underneath me, calling out and twisting this way and that. His flesh is so pale and tender.
I know all about him. He has the softest-looking hair I've ever seen. Clear cerulean eyes. He doesn't have friends, but that's alright. I don't either.
I don't need them. I have him.
I wish I could talk to him. I'm going to, one day. I'll catch him on the way home, and he'll beam at me. He'll know I'm his. I'll hear my name whispered from those petal-soft lips.
Sebastian.