It's always raining when she walks home.
She knows her route by heart: she knows where the best puddles congregate (after all, who doesn't love a good puddle?) and she knows where the best little coffee shop is (they sell the cutest little cakes and have the best chai tea). She knows where the potholes are (they really ought to fix those) and she knows how many steps it takes her to get home (okay, not really, but she did count once).
Nothing ever disturbs her route.
She wears the same hoodie every day; a green hoodie with shuriken designs on it. She usually pairs it with a pair of black converse all-stars (because there's nothing better than the original), a pair of ripped jeans (because they always look badass no matter what anyone says) and her small green umbrella (it's really not big enough for her—it doesn't keep her from getting wet and it doesn't even shield her from the wind).
Today she feels particularly wonderful.
She bids Kairi, Olette and Namine farewell as she changes out of her waitress uniform (she doesn't mind the job that much, the pay is decent and the tips are good) and heads out the door, opening her small umbrella. The rain falls on her skin harshly (like small penetrating crystals of ice), but she's used to it. She smiles and sets out on her way home, enjoying the sound of the rain hitting rooftops and the funny noises her shoes make as she wades through puddle after puddle. Squelch, squelch, squelch.
She stops to jump in a few puddles (and she earns a few strange looks from people walking by) and she stops in at her favorite little coffee shop (she gets a small slice of angel cake and her usual chai tea) and continues on her merry way, enjoying the rain pounding all around her and her shoes making that funny noise.
Her hoodie clings to her skin and her jeans are tightly stuck to her legs (cold and wet, but that's how she likes it), but she still smiles. She smiles because this is the one thing that makes her feel alive (alive breathing well human), what makes her feel—
She stops short (like you do when someone calls your name, or when you notice you're about to run into a telephone pole).
On the side of the road, sitting against the brick wall of an abandoned shop that's up for lease (and has been for years now, good grief), is a boy in a black hoodie (no prints, no designs, nothing but black). His hands are deep in the pockets of the hoodie and his head is bowed (he looks like he's praying, although she's pretty sure that's not what he's doing), and for some reason, he stands out against the gray and dreary scenery.
He's new (new like spring, like baby birds and blooming flowers and sprouting trees).
He senses her looking at him and looks up (slowly, agonizingly slowly, he drags his head up). The petite, purple-eyed girl catches a quick glimpse of his face—red hair, green eyes (green like emeralds and grass and trees). For a moment, they lock eyes, and time seems to stop. She brushes her short black bangs out of her face (they're the only thing she doesn't like sticking to her because of the rain) and continues on her way, leaving the new boy behind her.
On Tuesday she walks home (like she does every day) and it's raining (again, yes, again, it always rains here). Her shoes squelch and her hoodie sticks and her jeans cling and everything is normal.
But there he is (sitting there, as if he's waiting for someone to come and pick him up, like a small child after school).
She stops (short).
Their eyes meet (green versus purple).
She feels her stomach flip (not a somersault, a full blown flip).
And she walks.
On Wednesday she walks home (like always, nothing ever seems to change) and it's raining (rain, rain, never go away, stay here for another day). Her shoes squelch and her hoodie sticks and her jeans cling and everything is normal.
But there he is (waiting, waiting—who is he waiting for, and why does she really care at all, he's just a stranger).
She stops (short).
Their eyes meet (green versus purple).
She feels her heart take a plunge (right into her stomach).
And she walks.
On Thursday she walks home (today Kairi offered to drive her, but she turned her down, saying she'd rather walk) and it's raining (never stop, never stop, keep pounding and sticking and squelching and clinging). Her shoes squelch and her hoodie sticks and her jeans cling and everything is normal.
But there he is (still waiting, waiting for something like a miracle, like a forlorn lover in a tragic tale).
She stops (short).
Their eyes meet (green versus purple).
Her cheeks glow (bright red).
And she walks.
On Friday she walks home (another offer, this time from Olette, but she turns it down once again) and it's raining (keep going, keep going, never stop, never stop). Her shoes squelch and her hoodie sticks and her jeans cling and everything is normal.
But he isn't there (he's not waiting—she feels disappointed, angry, even sad because suddenly he's gone).
She stops (short).
She stares at the empty space (blank, gone, nothingness).
She shakes her head (back forth back forth).
And she walks.
Another week passes and everything is normal (by her standards anyway).
On the next Friday she walks home (nothing is going to change if she has anything to say about it) and it's raining (it's pouring, the old man is snoring). Her shoes squelch and her hoodie sticks and her jeans cling and everything is normal.
But there he is (he's waiting again, only this time his head is up).
She stops (he stares).
She smiles (he smiles back).
She walks up to him, extending her (pathetic, puny) green umbrella over his drenched body.
"Walk with me?"
He stands (with elegance).
She smiles again (charmingly).
Words fall from their mouths (like rain).
And they walk.