Rain.
It started at around half past six in the evening. It came gentle at first, a light drizzle that could barely be heard above the hustle and bustle of Indie Lane. By seven, it was a full-on downpour.
Most people that lived in Sibol City were used to frequent bouts of rain. It would come even during the hottest days of summer, always ensuring that the flower fields were always in bloom. Children were always told to keep raincoats in their school bags, and most adults always had an umbrella handy to keep from getting delayed by a bit of rainy weather during their commutes to and from their offices.
Shane Magno had spent the last twenty years of his life growing up in sibol. so he usually had an umbrella on-hand too. He usually never left home without one.
Usually.
“Dammit,”
Today was not one of his usual days.
He ran a hand through his damp, dark hair with a heavy sigh. When the rain started, he had just left work. By the time it had escalated into a raging deluge, he was already too far from the flower shop to turn back and too far from the streetcar stop to make a run for it. He was forced to take shelter beneath the awning of a closed secondhand bookstore under threat of getting completely soaked. But even then, he still managed to get a little wet. (Okay, he was a lot wet. He could feel puddles in his sneakers. But apart from that and the ends of his jeans, he was mostly dry because his coat was waterproof.)
Perhaps the worst part of the entire thing was that Shane knew exactly where his umbrella was; e had gone as far as to bring it out into the dining room with him, eating breakfast with it sitting right beside his lukewarm cup of coffee as he rushed to finish editing a paper that was due during his first class of the day. It was still there when he left, forgotten amidst the clamoring from his parents about his best friend waiting at the door for him.
Gods on earth…
Of all the days to be a complete idiot, it just had to be that day.
Shane raked a hand through his damp, dark hair. His hand kept catching on snares, indicative of going a whole day without stopping even once to brush it out. He tightened his hand into a fist and tugged at his hair until he could feel the roots straining and tugging on his scalp. Then, he let go and collapsed back against the wall.
Damn.
His phone buzzed in his pocket as he stood there lamenting. (Because that was definitely the only word applicable for the situation: lamenting.) It was probably Mikael… Shane promised to meet up with him twenty minutes ago.
major headache
Where are youuuu? :((
Yep.
wilde child
Got caught by the rain hahahah..
Forgot my umbrella this morning
major headache
Want me to come get you?
Shane considered it for a moment.
Just for a moment.
wilde child
Nah i can wait it out
I’m close to the station
If I’m not there by nine go home without me
major headache
Whatt no way
If you’re not here by nine I’m going into the nearest coffee shop and sitting down until you get here ~
Shane laughed quietly under his breath.
What a clown.
There wasn’t any point in arguing with him; it’s not like he really gave Shane any points for argument, as he just flat-out said that he was going to wait. Even if Shane put forward his best and most solid arguments (“Your dad’s gonna worry” “Andre and Lena will be worried if you’re late”), he doubted that Mikael was actually going to take any constructive criticism about his decision.
wilde child
Ok then. Ten minutes and i run.
major headache
Your funeral if you slip and eat dirt lol
Right.
Like he wasn’t going to go out of his way to heal Shane’s injuries in the event that he acquired any.
Clown.
He decided not to respond and just shoved his phone into the inner pocket of his coat. They could talk later. At the moment, his priority was figuring out how he was going to get to the station without getting totally and completely drenched.
Although he had only been living in the city for the last five years, Niko Griffin had taken well to the rain.
Most of his shoes and bags had been spelled to be waterproof, and he had several umbrellas tucked away in different spots in the house to minimize the risk of forgetting to take one when he went out. It’s worked well thus far; he’s only ever been caught in the rain without an umbrella twice.
“... Yeah, I’m almost there.”
Today was not one of those days.
“Okay. As long as you’re not running.”
Niko smirked. “Me? Running? I don’t have the constitution for that.”
“Ha.”
He was on his way to work when it started raining – and though his sling bag that day wasn’t rian-proof, he at least had his umbrella. His only real problem was the fact that the inclement weather was going to slow him down by about five or seven minutes, so he was either going to be late or dangerously close to it.
“Tell Ate Starr I’m sorry,” he offered.
“I’m sure Ate Starr won’t mind.” Ferrell reassured him over the phone. Static was already biting into his words, threatening to prematurely cut off the call. “But I’ll tell her anyway because I’m nice that way.”
“Thanks.”
“Anytime. Anyways, don’t let me keep you. See you in five?”
“See you in ten.”
Niko waited for the click of the call being hung up from Ferrell’s end before putting his phone away.
Then he was off.
On a clear day, the walk down the western end of Indie Lane to its midway point would be somewhere between five to seven minutes based on the average walking speed. Niko knew this because after the first time he got to work late, he immediately adjusted his entire weekend schedule from morning to afternoon just to give himself some room to walk at a non-rushing pace. He knew that walking slower than average got him there at about eight minutes. Walking there at his normal pace (which was somewhat fast by average standards) took exactly five minutes.
He didn’t mean to be late that day. He really didn’t. He knew it rained in the evenings and his timetable accounted for that. But there was very little he could do to keep his last class professor from going into hard overtime to catch up with three days’ worth of lecture material that was integral for their final exams.
So technically, it wasn’t his fault that he was running late.
It kind of felt like it.
But he knew it wasn’t.
He just… had a hard time convincing himself, is all.
He kept the thought – that being late was not his fault this time – close in mind as he turned corners and took shortcuts on his way, cutting through dark back alleys where the smell of mildew permeated the air because the rain never quite dried up. He had long ago promised Ferrell that he wouldn’t do that ever again, considering what happened the last time he did that. (His bruises still haven’t quite healed even though it’s been a good few weeks.) Usually, he was good at keeping promises.
But he was kind of in a hurry. So.
Just this once.
He would do it just this once and never again.
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