Author's Note: Another prompt from a couple people: Oliver and Felicity caught in the rain


His shirt is soaked through, his boxer briefs are sticking in distressing places, and he is fairly certain he'd stepped in a mushy, discarded hotdog not too long ago.

There is no where else he would rather be.

They had come to a housing arrangement that had, at first, caused him to rankle and protest; eventually, she had won over, and he relented to sleeping in her spare bedroom. It has been uncomfortable to be so near to her for such odd periods of the day - breakfast, dinner, and her Wednesday and Sunday tv extravaganzas - but they have fallen into a normalcy that isn't close to normal.

It works for them.

Mostly.

He trips up when she is cooking dinner (she took the spatula away from him right from the start) and her delicate fingers bring sauces or batters or mixes to her lips for a taste he is envious of; when they switch for the shower, and the scent of her invades his senses; when they enjoy TV night together, and her feet prop up on his thighs, while his hands can't help but massage away the knots from a day in heels. They are so much closer that he's ever been to another person, and not because they live together.

She knows him.

He doesn't need to hide.

This is what he'd been thinking at the very early hours of the morning when an obnoxious, piercing alarm sounded there was a fire in the building. Instantly, he'd been up, untangling himself from a purple comforter - decorated with more television characters he hadn't asked about - and darting out the door to find his roommate attempting to collect everything electronic from the apartment.

He'd tried not to laugh while watching her fight with the power cord to her desktop.

With much coaxing and urging, he'd gotten her downstairs with only her tablet and phone - on the promise that the fire was small, since he didn't smell a thing - and finally through the main doors as a wash of frazzled, annoyed, and half-dressed individuals crushed in around them.

The group had stood as one for a moment or two, before people began to peel off to their vehicles, or to the all night diner down the street. Some simply sat on the sidewalk and conversed, having rarely had the opportunity to meet any other that lived in the building.

She had appeared tired and harried.

He'd thought she looked adorable.

And then he'd noticed she was in an old college shirt of his, its volume drowning her and all but hiding the boy-short underwear she'd chosen for bed.

She hadn't notice, of course, why would she? She had been too intent on saving her "babies" to stop and think about what she'd been asleep in. Then again, he hadn't been paying attention, either, so really he couldn't blame her for just being her. He tried to be a gentleman - she makes it so damn difficult sometimes - and encouraged her with a well-practiced "shooing" motion towards her cheery red car. She shuffled along, one hand clutching her tablet while the other fumbled to hold the phone to her ear.

He had only partially listening to the one-sided conversation, but it brought the tug of a smile to his lips; her assertions that yes, John, we are fine and no, John, you don't need to leave and I don't care if she understands, I'll be mad for her, was said in her no-nonsense tone; of course, he was becoming quickly acquainted with it while sharing a roof with the talented, stunning woman.

They'd arrived at the car some minutes later, at which point she'd ended the conversation with their partner/brother/family, only to stare at him with big eyes and a confused face.

She'd told him she doesn't have the keys.

He'd felt like an idiot.

And then the rain had come.

There was a squeal of shock and frustration that had issued from his roommate - touchy word, that - and he couldn't stop that previous smile from blooming across his lips. She'd caught it, of course, but before she could launch into a spectacular rant, he'd tugged her forward, darting them across the street and under an awning for "vegan soups and soaps". Her bare feet had slapped sloppily against the slickening concrete, but his had fallen with near silence.

Of all the things to bring up, that was what she'd chosen to complain about when they'd crowded up under their refuge. But it wasn't only her words; as usual, she was paying no mind to the world around her, and had the bottom of his college shirt pulled up to wipe away moisture from her tablet.

He'd immediately forced his eyes away, looking anywhere and everywhere but at the span of enticing skin flashing just above her shorts. She'd continued nattering - to him or to the rain, he hadn't been sure - and before long, she had finished her work with a huff.

And then a shiver.

The rain in the city wasn't cold, not the bone aching, skin freezing, eye-watering cold of the island. It hadn't occurred to him that she didn't feel the rain as tepid and luke, but rather felt it with a chill and a shiver.

So he'd reached around her, and drawn her near.

Christ, it had felt right.

Now they are standing wrapped up in one another, still and remarkably comfortable, as the garish red and yellow fire engines make their presence known. He looks away from the blinding lights to study the top of her blonde head as it rests so easily on his chest. The reds and blues flashing through the night rain illuminate her frazzled hair, and no amount of willpower or damn self control could stop him from brushing it back, smoothing it down to glow in the glare of streetlamps and emergency lights.

She doesn't say anything.

He feels her shuffle, juggle her tablet and phone, and then a chill hand works around his waist, fingers delving under his shirt to send a shiver not related to the cold down his spine.

She tells him it's because she is cold.

He tells her she can get as close as she wants.

He thinks he feels her smile against his chest.