{oneshot} of spiders and photographs ; shigeda
TITLE: Of Spiders and Photographs
PAIRING: Kato Shigeaki x Ueda Tatsuya
RATING: G
DISCLAIMER: Do not own
GENRE: Fluff, romance
NOTES: Originally posted here.
SUMMARY: You sit up, startled. There's a man out in that downpour, standing in the middle of that old playground across the street. His face is turned towards the sky, arms outstretched.
You finger the strap of your camera lazily as you watch the rain. It's been going on for days now, and there's nothing left to photograph in your tiny apartment. You've already exhausted every possible view of every possible object - and you have a great assortment of knick-knacks decorating your place.
You sigh, and make yourself a cup of tea. You sip at it distractedly, cursing as you burn yourself, and set it back onto the tabletop to cool. You are bored. There's nothing to do - games are useless without another person, and television just doesn't hold your interest anymore. Your laptop is broken and off being repaired; you've read every book you own; and everyone else is off having proper jobs or going to university, so calling them is out.
You lift your cup up again, blowing on it, and gingerly take another sip. You sigh as the hot liquid fills your body. You glance out of the window, cradling the hot cup in your hands and soaking up the warmth it brings. It is then that you see him.
You sit up, startled. There's a man out in that downpour, standing in the middle of that old playground across the street. His face is turned towards the sky, arms outstretched.
You sit there for a while, just watching him. Your eyebrows knot together as you realise that he wears no jacket, and it is clear, even from this distance, that he is drenched.
You swear, shake your head, and grab your own jacket. You throw it on in a hurry, and snatch up your umbrella as you race out the door. You don't know why you're doing this - he's just a stranger. Nevertheless, you continue rushing down the hallway, down the stairs, and out into the rain. The rain pours onto your umbrella loudly, drowning out all other sounds as you speed across the road and into the park. Your shoes squelch in the mud underfoot, and you take care to not slip.
The man is shivering as you reach him, but he doesn't open his eyes. You stand there, body freezing, teeth chattering, clutching your jacket to your body as if to retain what little heat you have.
"A--are you c--c--crazy o--or what?" You manage to stutter out. Finally, he opens his eyes.
"Most possibly," he answers, and closes his eyes again. You sigh in impatience.
"W--what're you doing out h--here? C--c--ome in--insi--i--i--de!" You yell over the pounding of the rain on your umbrella.
He slowly opens his eyes again, but instead of agreeing, he merely says, in a voice so soft that you have to lean forward and strain your ears to hear, "...you have a lovely umbrella."
You are quite certain he is mentally deranged. However, you catch yourself looking up at your umbrella - your plain, yellow umbrella. You stare at him incredulously.
"Look, just get out o--of the rain! I--t's gonna s--s--storm soon!"
Ignored. Kato Shigeaki was never ignored. You have been scolded, confessed to, made fun of - heck, even stepped on, but never ignored. You grab onto the man's arm, pulling him under the umbrella - despite his protests - and run back to your apartment building.
As soon as the two of you are standing in the lobby, he wrenches his arm out of your grip, sending you a deadly glare. You roll your eyes - you've never been a 'people person' - and set about wrestling with your umbrella to make it small enough to carry. You look back at him when you succeed, and notice that he is gazing at a caterpillar on the wall.
"...what're you doing?" you ask. He just looks at you with a gaze so powerful, you have to avert your eyes. "...nevermind, just follow me."
You lead him up to your apartment, the only noise from the other man being the shuffle of his feet on the carpet and the occasional sniffle. You cast him a sideways glance as he appears beside you in your doorway, his eyes sweeping over your cramped home. You clear your throat awkwardly, and he turns those eyes onto you.
"You should shower. Here," you gruffly say, and you throw him a towel you'd found in another room. You show him the bathroom, and he bows, copper hair dripping water onto your carpet.
You retreat into your own bedroom, haphazardly pulling out drawers here and there, trying to find clothes that look like they would fit the man. He's just a little bit smaller than you, but his shoulders are wider than your own. You eventually find an old school jersey which has been stretched after years of being worn, and some trackpants. You take them out to the bathroom, knock, open the door, place the clothes on the toilet and rush back out quickly.
By the time he comes out of the bathroom, you're already in the kitchen, stirring a pot of spaghetti sauce. You look up as he coughs gently.
"Thankyou for your clothes," he says quietly. You're taken aback. His voice is deeper than you'd imagined, and soft. You smile, and say that it's fine. He looks good in your old clothes. The jersey fits snugly around his shoulders; the sleeves of it hiding his hands. The pants threaten to fall off his hips, and the hems cover his feet. You think he looks adorable, but of course you don't say that.
"I'm making you dinner, since the rain hasn't stopped and I don't trust you enough to let you back out there again," you say, rather harshly.
He jerks his head up, and smiles. "Thankyou. I don't think even I trust myself."
You don't know what to say to that, so you turn and busy yourself with preparing dinner. He asks if he can help in any way, but you shake your head. You've done everything, anyway. And you prefer to work alone. But you don't tell him that.
Once dinner is ready, you and he sit across from one another silently. He exclaims that your cooking is delicious, and you thank him. The rest of the meal is finished quickly and quietly. Just the way you like it. For some reason, it isn't uncomfortable to be around this stranger. You gasp suddenly, jumping in your chair and bumping your knee on the table. He looks up, startled; a piece of spaghetti sticking out of his mouth.
"...you okay?"
"I...ow!...just realised I don't know your name."
"And I don't know yours."
"Don't start sentences with 'and'."
"Why not?"
"Because it's not proper English."
"I can start a sentence with 'and' if I want to."
"No, it's not---"
"Your name?"
"---my name. Wait. What?"
"I don't know your name either. Ueda Tatsuya."
"Kato Shigeaki. And you can't start a sentence with 'and'!"
Ueda stirs his spaghetti nonchalantly. "You just did."
"I...bugger."
Ueda smiles, and it is quite possibly the most beautiful thing you've ever seen. The way his whole face lights up; the way his lips curve at the ends; the way his nose slightly scrunches up; the way his eyes crinkle. You smile back unconsiously.
You clear the table - he helps - but leave the dishes in the sink for another day. You tell him to sit on the couch, and he does, perching himself on the very edge of it.
"Um...do you mind if I take a photo of you?" You say awkwardly, fidgeting with the camera lens.
He looks up, shocked, but then slowly nods. "If you want to," he says, looking up at you.
"I won't do it now, though," you say, sitting down next to him.
"How come?"
You don't answer. You don't want to tell him that it's because you want to capture his picture when he's just being him - with no pretenses like all his other subjects. You look up from examining your camera, and find that he's moved off, staring at a spider climbing up the wall.
"...what're you doing?"
"Watching the spider."
"I can see that."
"Yes."
"...that's not an answer."
"It wasn't a question."
You like him. He's not afraid to tell you what he thinks. He's not one to back down.
"Why are you watching the spider?" You watch as he leans his head to the right, gazing at the little black arachnid as it struggled up.
"Why are you watching me watch the spider?"
"You can't answer a question with a question!"
"Well, I just did," he retorts, tearing his eyes away from the spider and looks at you. "Honestly, must you correct everything I do wrong?"
You hadn't realised that it had sounded like that. You were so used to doing it with your other friends, who didn't really care about it.
"Sorry."
But he's watching that spider again, and it literally holds all of his attention.
"So...why are you looking at the spider?"
"Have you seen it? It's amazing."
"...it's just a spider."
"Come here."
He grabs you, and pulls you over to where the spider has stopped to rest. You fight the urge to either run away or pull off your shoe to squish it into the wall, and look at it.
"...it's still just a spider. It hasn't made any magnificent changes in the past minute."
Ueda sighs, and yanks your arm closer. "Look."
"I'm looking!"
"Not hard enough! Look at the way all eight legs work without tangling themselves; look at the way it's able to even stay on the wall; look at all the tiny hairs on it's body. It's simply amazing..."
You look. And you see. You understand what he means. You worm your way out of his grip, and grab your camera, being careful as to not startle the creature. You capture it's image, and look back at the picture. You smile, and look up. Your face heats up as you realise that Ueda's face is too close as he checks the photograph. He looks up and beams at you.
"See? You just have to appreciate everything as it's given." You look at him. You're a photographer. You thought you did appreciate everything. But the way he sees the world is much different from the way you do.
"So, what were you doing out in the rain before, anyway?" you ask as the spider crawls away into the roof. You just know it's going to turn up in your bed tonight.
He sits down on the couch again, and he seems more comfortable now as he leans against the cushions. "Because I wanted to see the raindrops from up close."
"...why?"
"Why not?"
"You were one of those kids who were beaten up at school, weren't you?"
"Yes."
"So was I."
"But that's what makes us different from them."
"What?"
"You wouldn't have seen that spider if you were like them. You would have just killed it, without thinking about the beauty you would have squashed."
"You're weird."
"You're as weird as me."
You smile. He's good. "Nice one."
He counters with a "Thankyou," and continues to look around your apartment. He stands up, eyeing a photograph you have framed on your bookshelf.
"Friends?"
You nod, and look over his shoulder at them.
"That's Koyama - he talks too much, but he means well. Tegoshi's the one next to him... he's a spoilt brat, but we wouldn't have him any other way. Massu - that one there - always eats; Nishikido's the one next to him, and has a poisonous tongue. Seriously. Yamashita is the one who acts the coolest, but is probably the biggest idiot out there..." You trail off as you realise he's looking at you over his shoulder. You clear your throat, and move away slightly. It was probably unnecessary for you to be that close, anyway.
But he moves backwards, to you, and points at the photograph. "He has nice eyes. The one with the cheeks. Keep him."
You laugh. "I didn't intend to not keep him."
You see his cheeks lift up as he smiles, and for some reason you can't fathom, your arm lifts by itself and pokes his cheek. He retaliates by attempting to bite your finger. It's like you've been friends for years, and he's not a stranger who you picked up off the street.
"This one has...sad eyes. Very sad eyes. He has a story."
"Ryo? He's had his heart broken a few too ma---"
"---but it's not your place to tell me."
You regard him silently. "True." You chuckle slightly. "Ah, it'd be great to have you in a verbal battle against him."
He hums gently, and actually leans back into you. You freeze, and look down at him.
He sighs, and puts the photo back like nothing happened. He continues walking around, touching things here and there.
"So, you're a photographer?"
You chuckle. "Yeah. What gave that away?"
He looks down, at a bunch of photographs piled up on a table. He shuffles through them, not paying any attention to you. He picks out one, and holds it up to show you.
"I like this one," he says plainly.
You take it from him, and look at it. It's a candid shot of Tegoshi and Massu, laughing together. It's blurry because you had taken it as all of you were walking, and there wasn't any real artistry to it. You look at him strangely. "..why?"
"Do I need a reason to like this one?"
"Well...look at it! It's terri---"
But he cuts you off. "It's beautiful. You can tell you really love these two. The fact that you even decided to take this picture, even though you were moving; even though you knew the picture would turn out bad, you still took it."
You look back at the photo. "I...guess it's not all that bad -- Hey!" He's gone wandering off again.
He's ventured into your bedroom, touching things that aren't meant to be touched by other people.
You flail, and grab your Ikimono gakari single from him, missing the ghost of a smile on his face. You're heart is beating so fast that you barely hear his soft voice over the top of the pounding.
"I wrote that song."
"Yeah, right."
"Really, I did," he says, heading over to your closet.
"Yeah - you shouldn't go in there. And I don't believe you."
Distractedly - and whilst running his hands over the wooden door of the closet - he whispers, "Don't start your sentences with 'and'."
You laugh. "Got me there," you say, and suddenly his expression is sad. "What's wrong?"
"It's stopped raining."
It's like your heart has actually stopped beating. The only sound in the room is his hands rasping over the wood.
"I should go, then," he says hesitantly, and heads to the door, but you grab him.
"How do you know it's stopped?"
"Huh?"
"How do you know the rain has stopped? I don't have a window in this room." For once, you're glad about your apartment's bad architecture.
"I can't hear it anymore."
"But how do you know if you can't see it? It may still be sprinkling," you fight back. You don't want him to leave. At all. You know if you let him out of your apartment, you'll never see him again, and you don't want that to happen. Maybe you're being selfish, but you don't care.
He smiles. "True. For all we know, the rest of the country has been destroyed by a massive hurricane."
"Or a giant meteorite."
"Or maybe we've been abducted by aliens."
"Maybe. Maybe we're both dead."
"Maybe you're just dreaming and maybe I'm not real."
"No." In one bold move, you're standing right in front of him, and he's looking up at you. You hold his head in your hands. "No, you're definately real."
His face grows red, but you bet it's nothing compared to your own. Your thumb starts stroking his cheek unconsciously. He smiles, but pulls away, grabbing one of your hands.
"Lets go see!" He exclaims.
"What?!"
"I want to see if we really have been abducted!"
He really is the strangest person you've met. But, for some reason, as you look down at his hand in yours, it feels oddly...right. Even though you've only known him for a few hours, he's changed the way you see the world.
The two of you burst outside. It's snowing - there's a light dusting of white on everything.
You turn to him, and his face shows pure joy. He stretches out his hand, and snatches some of the falling snowflakes. He grabs your hand and squishes the melted flakes onto your skin, but you hold onto his hand before you can let go. You pull him close, and gently snake the hand which is not holding onto his around his neck.
It's under the dancing snow that the two of you kiss, and for once, you don't care what others think. Let them think what they want.
He pulls away first, looking at you with shining eyes. He giggles at you, and you just have to lean back in and kiss him again, more passionately this time.
"You don't have to leave any time soon," you say, resting your head against his.
"Wasn't planning on it."
"I."
"Huh?"
"I wasn't planning on it."
"Oh, shut up." And then he's stuffing snow down your shirt and you're shrieking, chasing him around the same park that you first found him in.
You remind yourself to take his picture later.
END.
PAIRING: Kato Shigeaki x Ueda Tatsuya
RATING: G
DISCLAIMER: Do not own
GENRE: Fluff, romance
NOTES: Originally posted here.
SUMMARY: You sit up, startled. There's a man out in that downpour, standing in the middle of that old playground across the street. His face is turned towards the sky, arms outstretched.
You finger the strap of your camera lazily as you watch the rain. It's been going on for days now, and there's nothing left to photograph in your tiny apartment. You've already exhausted every possible view of every possible object - and you have a great assortment of knick-knacks decorating your place.
You sigh, and make yourself a cup of tea. You sip at it distractedly, cursing as you burn yourself, and set it back onto the tabletop to cool. You are bored. There's nothing to do - games are useless without another person, and television just doesn't hold your interest anymore. Your laptop is broken and off being repaired; you've read every book you own; and everyone else is off having proper jobs or going to university, so calling them is out.
You lift your cup up again, blowing on it, and gingerly take another sip. You sigh as the hot liquid fills your body. You glance out of the window, cradling the hot cup in your hands and soaking up the warmth it brings. It is then that you see him.
You sit up, startled. There's a man out in that downpour, standing in the middle of that old playground across the street. His face is turned towards the sky, arms outstretched.
You sit there for a while, just watching him. Your eyebrows knot together as you realise that he wears no jacket, and it is clear, even from this distance, that he is drenched.
You swear, shake your head, and grab your own jacket. You throw it on in a hurry, and snatch up your umbrella as you race out the door. You don't know why you're doing this - he's just a stranger. Nevertheless, you continue rushing down the hallway, down the stairs, and out into the rain. The rain pours onto your umbrella loudly, drowning out all other sounds as you speed across the road and into the park. Your shoes squelch in the mud underfoot, and you take care to not slip.
The man is shivering as you reach him, but he doesn't open his eyes. You stand there, body freezing, teeth chattering, clutching your jacket to your body as if to retain what little heat you have.
"A--are you c--c--crazy o--or what?" You manage to stutter out. Finally, he opens his eyes.
"Most possibly," he answers, and closes his eyes again. You sigh in impatience.
"W--what're you doing out h--here? C--c--ome in--insi--i--i--de!" You yell over the pounding of the rain on your umbrella.
He slowly opens his eyes again, but instead of agreeing, he merely says, in a voice so soft that you have to lean forward and strain your ears to hear, "...you have a lovely umbrella."
You are quite certain he is mentally deranged. However, you catch yourself looking up at your umbrella - your plain, yellow umbrella. You stare at him incredulously.
"Look, just get out o--of the rain! I--t's gonna s--s--storm soon!"
Ignored. Kato Shigeaki was never ignored. You have been scolded, confessed to, made fun of - heck, even stepped on, but never ignored. You grab onto the man's arm, pulling him under the umbrella - despite his protests - and run back to your apartment building.
As soon as the two of you are standing in the lobby, he wrenches his arm out of your grip, sending you a deadly glare. You roll your eyes - you've never been a 'people person' - and set about wrestling with your umbrella to make it small enough to carry. You look back at him when you succeed, and notice that he is gazing at a caterpillar on the wall.
"...what're you doing?" you ask. He just looks at you with a gaze so powerful, you have to avert your eyes. "...nevermind, just follow me."
You lead him up to your apartment, the only noise from the other man being the shuffle of his feet on the carpet and the occasional sniffle. You cast him a sideways glance as he appears beside you in your doorway, his eyes sweeping over your cramped home. You clear your throat awkwardly, and he turns those eyes onto you.
"You should shower. Here," you gruffly say, and you throw him a towel you'd found in another room. You show him the bathroom, and he bows, copper hair dripping water onto your carpet.
You retreat into your own bedroom, haphazardly pulling out drawers here and there, trying to find clothes that look like they would fit the man. He's just a little bit smaller than you, but his shoulders are wider than your own. You eventually find an old school jersey which has been stretched after years of being worn, and some trackpants. You take them out to the bathroom, knock, open the door, place the clothes on the toilet and rush back out quickly.
By the time he comes out of the bathroom, you're already in the kitchen, stirring a pot of spaghetti sauce. You look up as he coughs gently.
"Thankyou for your clothes," he says quietly. You're taken aback. His voice is deeper than you'd imagined, and soft. You smile, and say that it's fine. He looks good in your old clothes. The jersey fits snugly around his shoulders; the sleeves of it hiding his hands. The pants threaten to fall off his hips, and the hems cover his feet. You think he looks adorable, but of course you don't say that.
"I'm making you dinner, since the rain hasn't stopped and I don't trust you enough to let you back out there again," you say, rather harshly.
He jerks his head up, and smiles. "Thankyou. I don't think even I trust myself."
You don't know what to say to that, so you turn and busy yourself with preparing dinner. He asks if he can help in any way, but you shake your head. You've done everything, anyway. And you prefer to work alone. But you don't tell him that.
Once dinner is ready, you and he sit across from one another silently. He exclaims that your cooking is delicious, and you thank him. The rest of the meal is finished quickly and quietly. Just the way you like it. For some reason, it isn't uncomfortable to be around this stranger. You gasp suddenly, jumping in your chair and bumping your knee on the table. He looks up, startled; a piece of spaghetti sticking out of his mouth.
"...you okay?"
"I...ow!...just realised I don't know your name."
"And I don't know yours."
"Don't start sentences with 'and'."
"Why not?"
"Because it's not proper English."
"I can start a sentence with 'and' if I want to."
"No, it's not---"
"Your name?"
"---my name. Wait. What?"
"I don't know your name either. Ueda Tatsuya."
"Kato Shigeaki. And you can't start a sentence with 'and'!"
Ueda stirs his spaghetti nonchalantly. "You just did."
"I...bugger."
Ueda smiles, and it is quite possibly the most beautiful thing you've ever seen. The way his whole face lights up; the way his lips curve at the ends; the way his nose slightly scrunches up; the way his eyes crinkle. You smile back unconsiously.
You clear the table - he helps - but leave the dishes in the sink for another day. You tell him to sit on the couch, and he does, perching himself on the very edge of it.
"Um...do you mind if I take a photo of you?" You say awkwardly, fidgeting with the camera lens.
He looks up, shocked, but then slowly nods. "If you want to," he says, looking up at you.
"I won't do it now, though," you say, sitting down next to him.
"How come?"
You don't answer. You don't want to tell him that it's because you want to capture his picture when he's just being him - with no pretenses like all his other subjects. You look up from examining your camera, and find that he's moved off, staring at a spider climbing up the wall.
"...what're you doing?"
"Watching the spider."
"I can see that."
"Yes."
"...that's not an answer."
"It wasn't a question."
You like him. He's not afraid to tell you what he thinks. He's not one to back down.
"Why are you watching the spider?" You watch as he leans his head to the right, gazing at the little black arachnid as it struggled up.
"Why are you watching me watch the spider?"
"You can't answer a question with a question!"
"Well, I just did," he retorts, tearing his eyes away from the spider and looks at you. "Honestly, must you correct everything I do wrong?"
You hadn't realised that it had sounded like that. You were so used to doing it with your other friends, who didn't really care about it.
"Sorry."
But he's watching that spider again, and it literally holds all of his attention.
"So...why are you looking at the spider?"
"Have you seen it? It's amazing."
"...it's just a spider."
"Come here."
He grabs you, and pulls you over to where the spider has stopped to rest. You fight the urge to either run away or pull off your shoe to squish it into the wall, and look at it.
"...it's still just a spider. It hasn't made any magnificent changes in the past minute."
Ueda sighs, and yanks your arm closer. "Look."
"I'm looking!"
"Not hard enough! Look at the way all eight legs work without tangling themselves; look at the way it's able to even stay on the wall; look at all the tiny hairs on it's body. It's simply amazing..."
You look. And you see. You understand what he means. You worm your way out of his grip, and grab your camera, being careful as to not startle the creature. You capture it's image, and look back at the picture. You smile, and look up. Your face heats up as you realise that Ueda's face is too close as he checks the photograph. He looks up and beams at you.
"See? You just have to appreciate everything as it's given." You look at him. You're a photographer. You thought you did appreciate everything. But the way he sees the world is much different from the way you do.
"So, what were you doing out in the rain before, anyway?" you ask as the spider crawls away into the roof. You just know it's going to turn up in your bed tonight.
He sits down on the couch again, and he seems more comfortable now as he leans against the cushions. "Because I wanted to see the raindrops from up close."
"...why?"
"Why not?"
"You were one of those kids who were beaten up at school, weren't you?"
"Yes."
"So was I."
"But that's what makes us different from them."
"What?"
"You wouldn't have seen that spider if you were like them. You would have just killed it, without thinking about the beauty you would have squashed."
"You're weird."
"You're as weird as me."
You smile. He's good. "Nice one."
He counters with a "Thankyou," and continues to look around your apartment. He stands up, eyeing a photograph you have framed on your bookshelf.
"Friends?"
You nod, and look over his shoulder at them.
"That's Koyama - he talks too much, but he means well. Tegoshi's the one next to him... he's a spoilt brat, but we wouldn't have him any other way. Massu - that one there - always eats; Nishikido's the one next to him, and has a poisonous tongue. Seriously. Yamashita is the one who acts the coolest, but is probably the biggest idiot out there..." You trail off as you realise he's looking at you over his shoulder. You clear your throat, and move away slightly. It was probably unnecessary for you to be that close, anyway.
But he moves backwards, to you, and points at the photograph. "He has nice eyes. The one with the cheeks. Keep him."
You laugh. "I didn't intend to not keep him."
You see his cheeks lift up as he smiles, and for some reason you can't fathom, your arm lifts by itself and pokes his cheek. He retaliates by attempting to bite your finger. It's like you've been friends for years, and he's not a stranger who you picked up off the street.
"This one has...sad eyes. Very sad eyes. He has a story."
"Ryo? He's had his heart broken a few too ma---"
"---but it's not your place to tell me."
You regard him silently. "True." You chuckle slightly. "Ah, it'd be great to have you in a verbal battle against him."
He hums gently, and actually leans back into you. You freeze, and look down at him.
He sighs, and puts the photo back like nothing happened. He continues walking around, touching things here and there.
"So, you're a photographer?"
You chuckle. "Yeah. What gave that away?"
He looks down, at a bunch of photographs piled up on a table. He shuffles through them, not paying any attention to you. He picks out one, and holds it up to show you.
"I like this one," he says plainly.
You take it from him, and look at it. It's a candid shot of Tegoshi and Massu, laughing together. It's blurry because you had taken it as all of you were walking, and there wasn't any real artistry to it. You look at him strangely. "..why?"
"Do I need a reason to like this one?"
"Well...look at it! It's terri---"
But he cuts you off. "It's beautiful. You can tell you really love these two. The fact that you even decided to take this picture, even though you were moving; even though you knew the picture would turn out bad, you still took it."
You look back at the photo. "I...guess it's not all that bad -- Hey!" He's gone wandering off again.
He's ventured into your bedroom, touching things that aren't meant to be touched by other people.
You flail, and grab your Ikimono gakari single from him, missing the ghost of a smile on his face. You're heart is beating so fast that you barely hear his soft voice over the top of the pounding.
"I wrote that song."
"Yeah, right."
"Really, I did," he says, heading over to your closet.
"Yeah - you shouldn't go in there. And I don't believe you."
Distractedly - and whilst running his hands over the wooden door of the closet - he whispers, "Don't start your sentences with 'and'."
You laugh. "Got me there," you say, and suddenly his expression is sad. "What's wrong?"
"It's stopped raining."
It's like your heart has actually stopped beating. The only sound in the room is his hands rasping over the wood.
"I should go, then," he says hesitantly, and heads to the door, but you grab him.
"How do you know it's stopped?"
"Huh?"
"How do you know the rain has stopped? I don't have a window in this room." For once, you're glad about your apartment's bad architecture.
"I can't hear it anymore."
"But how do you know if you can't see it? It may still be sprinkling," you fight back. You don't want him to leave. At all. You know if you let him out of your apartment, you'll never see him again, and you don't want that to happen. Maybe you're being selfish, but you don't care.
He smiles. "True. For all we know, the rest of the country has been destroyed by a massive hurricane."
"Or a giant meteorite."
"Or maybe we've been abducted by aliens."
"Maybe. Maybe we're both dead."
"Maybe you're just dreaming and maybe I'm not real."
"No." In one bold move, you're standing right in front of him, and he's looking up at you. You hold his head in your hands. "No, you're definately real."
His face grows red, but you bet it's nothing compared to your own. Your thumb starts stroking his cheek unconsciously. He smiles, but pulls away, grabbing one of your hands.
"Lets go see!" He exclaims.
"What?!"
"I want to see if we really have been abducted!"
He really is the strangest person you've met. But, for some reason, as you look down at his hand in yours, it feels oddly...right. Even though you've only known him for a few hours, he's changed the way you see the world.
The two of you burst outside. It's snowing - there's a light dusting of white on everything.
You turn to him, and his face shows pure joy. He stretches out his hand, and snatches some of the falling snowflakes. He grabs your hand and squishes the melted flakes onto your skin, but you hold onto his hand before you can let go. You pull him close, and gently snake the hand which is not holding onto his around his neck.
It's under the dancing snow that the two of you kiss, and for once, you don't care what others think. Let them think what they want.
He pulls away first, looking at you with shining eyes. He giggles at you, and you just have to lean back in and kiss him again, more passionately this time.
"You don't have to leave any time soon," you say, resting your head against his.
"Wasn't planning on it."
"I."
"Huh?"
"I wasn't planning on it."
"Oh, shut up." And then he's stuffing snow down your shirt and you're shrieking, chasing him around the same park that you first found him in.
You remind yourself to take his picture later.
END.