Summary: [OCxOC; het] We are two pit players trying to survive our horrible, wonderful life together. This is a collection of short stories: small pieces detailing particular events. Which lie in the past and which in the future? That is for us to know. Rated more for safety than descriptive content. This is continually updating. It will finish when our lives do.

A/N: My most band-y chapter yet. It's a mash-up of two ideas I've had for a very long time—the first being that lucky vibraphone line, and the second the opening sequence about the rain. I decided to combine them, and this is /still/ a short chapter. It just wasn't a lot of content. Oh well. Reviews are adored, but it's not like I'll stop writing without them. These are for him, anyway.

[Vignettes of Him] Those Fateful Downpours

In which we hold out hope for many more rainy days spent together.

I am eternally grateful to the rain.

We got married in the rain. I remember every detail of that day.

One afternoon, when he didn't come to my locked like he was wont to do, it rained: cold, unfeeling drops that soiled my textbooks and sunk my spirits.

Once, it rained during a competition. I couldn't forget sitting next to him on the bus in our dripping wet bibbers halfway through that day, my body losing heat on one side to our jackets and his arm around me restoring it on the other. My mind holds a distinct image of the raindrops sliding across the outside of my windowpane as we moved. His lips tasted especially warm on that bus ride.

These days, I take the rain to be a sign.

The rain, in essence, brought us together.

I lay upon the timpani cart in the orchestra room thinking about it, unmitigatedly alone. Less than ten minutes before now, the room had been filled with the cacophonous dissonance of free time (more cordially named 'Work on stuff on your own until lunch, guys'). Of course, everyone had complied for about thirty minutes—me trying desperately to hear what I was playing on the vibraphone over the din of the nearby concert toms; and the boys, who always went straight for the loudest drums, making my job as challenging as possible—until their attention spans were exceeded and their enthusiasm wore off and our number dwindled as in groups of two or three they slipped out into the hallways to spend twenty-five minutes 'getting a drink' or 'going to the bathroom'. Now, only I remained, too worn out to make use of the silence I had so long craved.

I was almost too busy reveling in the memory of the time he and I had lain on the timpani cart together to hear the knocking. It was him, locked out and pounding on the orchestra room door that led to the outside. From my position on the floor, I was not in his field of vision. I stood, walked to the door, and opened it. Upon doing so I was showered with a rainy gust of wind. The weather had kept us confined to the music hallway all day. As I stepped to my left to allow him to come inside, I thought to myself that I couldn't really blame the kids for wanting to use every excuse to get away from here.

Oh well, my own voice sounded in my head, it worked out to my advantage, anyway. I made my way back to the timpani cart. He followed slowly behind me, taking a seat in a nearby black plastic chair as I lay down again. I have never been comfortable sleeping with other people around, even him, so I closed my eyes until all I could see were slits of white-grey light and rested. He remained quiet for a while. Eventually, I opened my eyes just to make sure that a movement of his hadn't tricked my senses and gone unnoticed by me. His position remained unchanged, and he was staring out the window at the continuing rain. However, his eyes snapped over and locked with mine when he heard me adjust the location of my arm underneath me. I glanced up just in time to see his mouth move.

'You look beautiful when you sleep,' he said, his voice hitching in a kind of sigh at the end: one of those times when he needed me but wouldn't say it. I was getting better at detecting those, and they happened often.

'Well,' I began in response. I sat up and lifted myself off the cart. Working consciously to place one foot in front of the other, I walked forward and sat lightly down on his lap, straddling his legs and the chair to do so. I had executed the action so that I was facing forward. I looked into his eyes.

'You are one lucky vibraphone,' I leaned into him until our chests were touching and my lips were right next to his ear, 'because I think you're going to see a lot more of me sleeping in your future.' To finish, I kissed him on the cheek and trailed my tongue down his jawbone to his lips, which I licked after wetting my own.

As I was doing this, he reached around my backside and pulled me so closely to him that only our clothing kept him from theoretically impregnating me. The shorts I had worn to practice slid dangeriously high on my thighs.

'I hope so.' Our lips were so close together that they brushed each other when he spoke.

I smiled and willingly kissed him. He kissed back and I moaned in pleasure, slipping my arms around his neck. I clasped my hands behind his head and rested my forearms on his shoulders. My lips, wet with his saliva, slid off his mouth and followed the rest of my face when I rested my chin on my arm. I breathed deeply, taking in as much of the scent of him as I could at one time. I'd never been able to place his smell with anything; it was magnificently unique, and I loved it.

'Two years,' I whispered to him.

His hands found my cheeks and gently pulled my head in front of him, and he kissed me on the lips for an answer.