A/N: This will be an eight-part Kellic fic. Enjoy!

The sun dawned gray and cold that morning. I stared at it uncomprehendingly; had I really been up all night? The rain that had persisted through the night was still going strong, and the wet streets reflected the harsh, pale sky. The air was moist and cool against my skin, the occasional lazy breeze floating past me and mussing my brown hair, which after an entire night of wandering around town in the rain had at this point lost all traces of straightness. The slight wind felt good; my body felt clean and energized.

But inside, my heart was dead.

My shoulder hurt where the strap of my bag had dug into the skin over the course of my walk, but I dared not put it down. After all, what I had stashed in this simple duffel bag was all I had left in the world now. It was all I'd been able to grab after my parents had decreed me unfit to live in their house. I supposed at some point they would let me back in to get the rest of my worldly possessions, but at the moment I knew that they were still incredibly angry with me. Not only angry, but disappointed, ashamed, maybe a little bit afraid. They were probably sitting in the living room right now, in each other's arms, tears streaming down their faces as they tried to cope with the fact that their son was gay.

The memory of their faces when I'd finally choked the words out, my voice thick and croaky from the nerves, was enough to bring fresh tears to my own eyes and a hot twist of guilt and loathing shoot through my stomach. They'd been so upset. You could see it in their eyes. And then the law had been laid down, and within ten minutes of coming out I was standing on the porch as the front door slammed in my face, barely aware of my surroundings. I'd stared at the faded white paint of the door for a minute after I heard the final click of the lock, until eventually I knew I had to move, had to walk, to go somewhere, anywhere.

So I'd walked. I'd walked down the front steps of my house, and then up the street and into the shopping district off campus of the nearby university, and then down into a different residential zone from my own, and then back up to the stores and lights. I'd never felt more alone in my life as I walked, my bag swinging from my shoulder, feeling new tears well up and spill over my eyes every so often. My heart felt like it was sinking lower and lower into my stomach, and my brain was simply dead. I'd never thought that this would be my mom and dad's reaction when I finally got it out in the open that I was into guys. Hell, they'd always been fully supportive of everything I wanted to do, from pursuing my career as a soccer player to starting my own band and holding nightly practices right in their basement. Nothing could have prepared me for the blow I'd received right in the chest when they told me, their own son, that the house I grew up in could no longer be my home, just because of who I was.

After that everything had turned into a blur. I hadn't stopped walking, not even to sit down; if I stopped walking, then everything in my mind would fall to pieces. That's one of the reasons I didn't knock on one of my friends' doors and ask pitifully if I could stay a night or two at their place, which I knew eventually it would come to. I just couldn't bring myself to stop walking, or to speak, or to think at all. Everything was too much. The world had turned its black heart against me, and as I walked and sniffled and was soaked by the downpour, I knew that my life was at its absolute lowest point. I had hit rock bottom.

Now it was daylight, and with the chill rays of the sun glowing dully against the colorless city around me and the night's rainfall picking up once again, the failures and letdowns of the night came to their climax. I stopped at Fen Park and watched the gray sunrise and thought of what my family must be doing right now. It was early, so my brother Mike wouldn't be awake, but mom and dad would already be getting ready for work. Mom would probably be in the shower, and dad would be on the couch watching the early morning news, slurping a cup of coffee from the World's Best Dad mug Mike and I had bought for him for father's day when we were kids, and the knowledge that they would be going about this routine every day without me from now on hurt too much for me to bear. I sank onto a park bench, not caring about the puddles of water gathered on the seat—my clothes were drenched already, anyway—and wrapped my arms around myself, shaking with sobs. I knew I must look absolutely pathetic, and what with the duffel bag and my relatively well-kept appearance, it probably wasn't difficult for passerby to deduce exactly what had happened to me.

I was another lost soul wandering the streets of the city. Another man rejected and betrayed by his own family. I had been forced from the hearts and home of those that I loved, and now there was nothing for me to do but pick up the pieces and go on with my life. But what if I didn't even want to pick up the pieces? What if I would have been perfectly content to just stay there, on that stupid park bench, dripping with rainwater and unable to pull myself together even for the public's eye? What if I couldn't simply forget about what my entire life had been made up of until that point?

I buried my face in my hands and cried, unashamed of my pathetic appearance. Let people watch and feel sorry for me; everything was so wrong, it wasn't as though a few strangers' opinions could change anything. I curled in on myself and felt my heart break and all the while the rain pummeled my body mercilessly.

That is, until I suddenly could no longer feel it stinging my skin and soaking my clothes. I looked up, lifting my head from my hands confusedly and watching the rain continue to wage its war on the rest of the world whilst I had suddenly been shielded from its attacks somehow. I frowned, and with a jolt realized that there was someone standing next to me.

I blinked at the stranger, and for a moment, in my haze of despair, I thought that an angel had appeared in my presence.

He was a young man, maybe a little younger than me, a marvel dressed in skinny jeans and a flannel shirt rolled up to his elbows, his slender form a silhouette against the pounding rain in the background. He was smiling slightly, just a gentle little curve on rose-petal lips, his eyes so large and blue and crystal-clear that it was almost painful to look into them.

And he was holding an umbrella over both of our heads.

"Hi," he said. "You looked like you needed this." His voice was exactly as you'd imagine it to be, a little high-pitched for a guy, but soft and sweet and tender somehow, like he caressed each word before he let it leave his mouth.

I didn't say anything, couldn't, just sniffed and shivered and gaped at him. He didn't seem to mind, just kept smiling at me gently, his mouth closed and his eyes warm as they delved into mine. His skin was of a beautiful ivory complexion, and looked smooth and velvety as milk even with a few stray raindrops traveling down his face unhurriedly, and black strands of hair hanging casually down over his forehead. His entire person just looked so soft, like a cushy teddy bear you just wanted to bury your face in. A little scrawnier perhaps, but I still found my hands twitching in my lap, aching to touch that creamy skin.

He stepped closer then; light Toms shoes squished the wilting grass under his weight as he moved ever closer. "I've never seen someone so sad," he said softly, his eyes roaming over my unkempt hair and tearful face, and then down to my sopping clothes and brown, toned arms. "What on earth could be so bad?"

It was ridiculous, but I had this strange feeling that he already knew, could sense what it was that troubled me so and tugged on my heart at that very moment. His question brought up memories too painful for his ears; thought of the events that had occurred at my house seven hours ago did not mix well with the new, strange sensations he was giving me. I shook my head, breaking eye contact with effort and staring down at my hands.

From the corner of my eye I saw him shift the umbrella from one hand to the other, and he said, "It's all right. You don't have to tell me. I understand what that's like—when things are still so fresh in your mind, like open wounds. It's best to leave them alone."

My eyes widened. How could he have possibly been able to voice my thoughts to precisely? His words were like music, drifting through the air and through the passages of my ears and settling on my brain like a warm blanket. Indeed, my entire body was beginning to physically warm up despite the miserable weather conditions. It was like this man's umbrella was magic, protecting me from the climate and dulling the agony of my parents' rejection just the slightest bit. I looked up at him, meeting those kind, understanding blue eyes and knowing instantly that it wasn't the umbrella that was magic.

His smile had diminished now, and he lowered his head just a bit, solemnly, capturing every bit of my attention. My skin blazed to life with tingles as he lifted his hand, the one that wasn't holding the umbrella, and tucked three of his fingers under my chin, ensuring that I didn't tear my gaze away from his own.

"Whatever it is," he murmured, his eyes melding into mine and penetrating into my very soul. "Everything is going to be okay. I promise, your life doesn't have to end because of this one day. You're going to be just fine. Besides, you're too beautiful to be swept away by sadness."

I felt my eyes fill with tears once again, but this time they were not wretched tears, not pained and regretful and loathing tears, but tears of pure, untamed joy. This man—this stranger's words had broken through the tough wall of misery within my soul and reached the internal, endlessly-stretching skies of hope. Nothing could ever hope to compare to the great relief of the weight falling from my shoulders, of all of the anxiety and self-loathing just dissipating into nothing. I blinked, letting the tears fall from my eyes and mingle with the rainwater from earlier, as the man let his face break into a smile once again.

Then dropped his hand and broke eye contact, leaning up around the umbrella and peering towards the sky, and his smile grew wider. "Hey, it stopped raining!" he commented quietly, lowering his umbrella and squinting up at the cheery sunlight now streaming down between the clouds, one hand over his eyes to shield them from the blinding rays. I didn't watch the sky; I didn't care for the sight of the sun reemerging from the endless gray that had blanketed the atmosphere for the entire night. Nothing, not even the sun, could be as stunningly beautiful as the man standing in front of me.

The man in question now closed his umbrella and lowered his gaze back to my face, his eyes shining dazzlingly, so happy it made my heart lurch in my chest.

"Well, I guess this is goodbye. I hope I helped make it a little easier," he stated, and though his voice was as gentle and lovely as ever, I could see a slight strain in his eyes as he spoke.

Loving and hating the sight, I watched him turn and begin to stride away towards the sidewalk bordering the edge of the park, his thin legs moving gracefully as he went. I couldn't register what was happening; it was like I was in a trance, or just waking up from one, my eyes glazed over and my breath hitching in my throat. I couldn't move, couldn't bring myself to break the moment I had shared with the most intensely, powerfully, mesmerizingly gorgeous person I had ever laid eyes on.

When he was about ten yards away from me, I found my voice and managed to choke out, "Thank you for sharing your umbrella!"

He turned back and looked at me, pausing for a split second in his journey to nod joyfully and grin, little white teeth displayed against pink lips and buttery skin, before turning back to his path and continuing onto the sidewalk.

I watched him until he had trekked out of sight behind a building, my breathing deep and slow, my heartbeat steady, tranquil. I was unable to move for another couple of minutes, lost and wonderfully puzzled by what had just taken place, before I shook myself—it was like waking up from a blissful dream—and stood up, grabbing my duffel bag.

I immediately decided to head for Jaime's place, since he lived in a moderate-sized house by himself. I wasn't able to clear my mind of the exquisite stranger for the rest of the day, all the while feeling sharp jabs of pain attack my heart more and more frequently as memories of my family began to seep back into my consciousness.

But, even as I cried softly on Jaime's house while he made comfort nachos, I knew that everything was going to be okay. I would pull through, somehow.

I would pick up the pieces.