only happy when it rains.

Some days, Brady wasn’t even sure how she managed to keep herself alive. After waking up and realizing she had no food in the house, thirty minutes before her first meeting of the day, and a lost pair of keys, Brady knew it was just going to be one of those days. Were it not for the fact that she was hungry, she likely would have called off the meeting and just stayed in bed, but food was a sound motivator for Brady. Rushing out of the house with her hair a mess and various things halfway falling out of her bag, Brady jogged across the street to hop into the first cab she could find. Uber and any other ride apps were a no for Brady, who trusted them very little. Not, of course, that a cab was really any better, but the established history of them made her feel slightly more secure with her decision. Tossing her stuff into the cab and vaulting in, Brady looked up with a groan when she realized that someone had just started to get in from the other side. “Fuck. I’ll pay the fee if we can share it. I’m like. Mad late right now,” she pleaded with the other person, her eyes imploring them to cut her a break on a morning that just wasn’t going her way.

If hangovers were nature’s way of telling the average person that they’d gotten a bit too overzealous the night before then the one Ollie was battling as she slipped out of the random hotel she’d crashed in the night before was meant to punish her in some ridiculous, divine manner. Her sunglasses hadn’t provided any relief and the lances of pain behind her eyes might have been enough to make her whine if she hadn’t been utterly used to the feeling. No more of this for a while, Olls, she thought, tugging open the door of the nearest cab, make a mental bloody note. A vague glimpse of her eyebrows above the rims of her rounded glasses was the only indication the Brit gave that she was even remotely surprised by the presence of another woman in the cab, and her eyes drifted towards the driver for a moment before her lips twitched at the corners into a brief smile. “Take the lass where she’d like to go, ay, Georgie? I’ll settle up,” Ollie rasped, her voice throaty and worn from the night before. The cabby grinned at her from the front seat and she caught his eyes in the rear view mirror, offering him a tired smile in return. “Just let him know where you’re headed, love, he’ll take care of the rest.” She allowed her glasses to slip down the bridge of her nose and keen green eyes ( sharp in spite of her current exhaustion ) studied the woman at her side for a moment before she grinned, “Take a deep breath, dove, you look like you’re ready to pass out.”

It was actually Friday. Eric could hardly believe it. And even though he had a 5GB folder full of student’s essays to revise, at least he would be able to do it resting his feet up. He had been on campus until late with a couple of interns putting some paperwork up to date. With summer break coming soon, they all had their hands full. On a high note, the subway was not nearly as busy as usual. For someone navigating with a white cane (even an experienced pilot like Eric himself), this was some great news. 

It was nice not having to push his way around and actually enjoy the city. More often than not, the stress of work and the standards of modern life could obscure how great that city really was. The professor got his attention caught by a group of musicians performing some not-so-famous piece. He knew the beat but had some hard time remembering the lyrics. He laughed at himself, choosing to ignore the passing train to have a few more minutes of the performance. Most footsteps either coming in or out of the train’s doors, but he noticed someone refusing to go with the flow. Probably someone who, much like himself, could find joy in something as simple as watching a street performance.

“Hey, would you be kind enough to give them this?” he showed the other person a couple of fifty pees, hoping the musicians had a hat or a guitar case to take them.

Friday nights in Ollie’s life hadn’t held any particular meaning or importance when she’d been growing up, and fucking about with her less than reputable friends during her teenage years had shifted them towards something that was meant to be full of debauchery and partying and general fucking around that they would either remember with absolute clarity or not at all. Time hadn’t changed the fact that Ollie spent most nights ( not exclusively Friday nights ) getting shitfaced drunk or too high to function, screwing someone she’d barely remember in the morning and generally running herself into the ground to avoid admitting she had feelings about anything at all. This Friday night was different. The afternoon had found her seated in her first proper therapy session as an adult and the resulting hour long admission of her problems and the crying that followed had exhausted her to the point that all she wanted was a cuddle and three days worth of sleep. 

There was so much casual affection in the household she shared with the rest of the band that neither of those things would be difficult for her to manage if she explained how she was feeling in the moment, but she’d found herself lost in thought on her way to the train - practicing all of the ways she could simultaneously explain her exhaustion and apologize for her less than stellar behavior over the last... well, it had been a long while. The sound of music being played on the platform coaxed her from her thoughts easily, and she listened to the group play with a subconscious but altogether warm and brilliant smile. 

Eric’s voice distracted her yet again and she found herself reaching for the change in his hand to offer to the musicians before she’d even agreed to do it verbally; she tossed it into one of the cases at their feet alongside fifty pounds she tucked as surreptitiously as she could beneath a few pages of sheet music. “They’re good, yeah?” She asked softly, pressing her back to the wall and allowing her eyes to slip closed as she listened. “I can’t remember the last time I got to stop and do something like this.”

Six years. Six years in London, and it was maybe about ten years he had been working in the field, but that didn’t make it any easier. He had been one of the lucky ones with good teachers and good resources in college so he was able to get working right away. He sat nursing a ginger beer in his hand. Tonight his mother-in-law Bea was with her girlfriends having a nice night out. He didn’t blame her. Sometimes being social was helpful. Sometimes it gave him a bigger headache than the one he had had all day. 

“Nope, this seat is open,” Joss said, looking up and he sat back a bit, rubbing his thumb over the rim of his glass slowly. “Naw, nothing on my mind; just the usual,” the man shook his head. “What’s new with you?” he pursed his lips together. Sometimes it was just hard to want to work for any kind of social interaction. There were very few people who he still trusted–it wasn’t anyone’s fault, Joss had just since thrown himself into his work after everything that had happened. “Order whatever you like, tab is open,” he waved his hand.

It hadn’t necessarily been Ollie’s intention to become a regular at the pub a mere two blocks from the house she shared with the band when they were living in London, but here she was— settled down on a bar stool with a pair of plain, dark framed glasses slipping down the bridge of her nose and her hair tied up in a messy bun, trying to blend in and avoid her life simultaneously. It was pathetic, really, but the moment she allowed herself to entertain that thought a sour taste settled on the back of her tongue that nearly made her choke on the sip of whiskey she’d been swishing in her mouth. She was a wreck and it wasn’t difficult for her to comprehend. But comprehension didn’t offer solutions and she wasn’t ready to think about that when she could get drunk or do literally anything else. 

“You wouldn’t want to know, mate,” Ollie replied, soft and rougher than she’d intended. Her throat was still sore from rehearsal and the ill-advised partying she’d done leading up to rehearsal and she was half sure she looked like a drowned rat but she was awake and at least vaguely social, and she’d bloody well count that as a win if she wanted to. “The life of a rockstar’s never easy, y’know, always some shit or another happening,” She continued airily, a dry mockery in the tone of her voice. A snort escaped her before she could clench her teeth to stop it and she offered Joss a curious, sideways glance, “I don’t know if you really wanna do that, babe— I’d clean the whole place out before your tab was closed and that’d be fucked, wouldn’t it? It’s probably better for my liver that I don’t take you up on that.”

@rcnegaades  \  semi plotted starter 

Billy leaned against the bar, her smile getting the bartender’s attention rather quickly, the redhead ordering herself another drink. It was only her second for the night, Billy attempting to go slow, hoping not to get too drunk. When she was drunk, she made crappy choices, slipped back into old habits. And she was trying to turn over a new leaf. But that didn’t mean she had to become a saint overnight. “Thanks,” She flashed another smile as she collected her drink, turning, eyes landing on a familiar face. Well, shit. It was the woman she’d slept with…what, three weeks ago? Who’s name Billy couldn’t remember. And she hadn’t stuck around the next morning to learn it while sober either. “—-hey.” 

When they’d started the band ( eons ago, it felt like ) Ollie had never intended to lean into the stereotypical rock and roll lifestyle— she’d been freshly sixteen with enough bad habits built up to last her a lifetime and the thought of making those any worse than they already were hadn’t appealed to her. It was a thought that occurred to her distantly as she tossed back another shot and smiled briefly at the girl who’d all but glued herself to her arm the second she’d walked up to the bar— any other night and she might’ve spent her time calculating just how she could get her newest admirer into bed but she was tired. Not physically, it seemed, as she had more than enough energy to socialize but perhaps somewhere far deeper that wanted to rail against the legion of people she’d met since the band had really taken off who’d wanted her for little more than her fame and the opportunity to say they’d been with her at all. She sniffed, annoyed at her own train of thought as she ordered another drink and turned on her heel to escape the press of the woman at the bar against her side only to find herself face to face with someone she had let into her bed not more than a few weeks before. Fit as absolute fuck, which was Ollie’s type across the board when she wasn’t hosting her own personal pity party. “Billy, yeah? Didn’t think I’d be seeing you about any time soon,” She admitted, an all too brief but genuine smile flickering to life across her lips, “Luck’s on my side tonight, I reckon. Havin’ a good night?”

“Bummer. It was awesome to get to play in college. Definitely an opportunity worth taking, though movies aren’t so bad either. Only got to finish out half of my four college seasons, but,” she shrugged, trailing off. Her injury had taken her out of the game, but it had been her own stupidity that had kept her out of it. She could have recovered, could have gone on to have a career in the sport, but things had worked out, she figured, for the best. Much as she would have loved to play professionally, the job she had now was far more exciting than anything she could have accomplished simply playing soccer for a living. “Totally sure, though. As long as you can handle getting your ass beat down by a girl,” she teased, her own eyes sparkling right along with Max’s. There was something about the thrill of any sort of competition or challenge that bubbled something up in Sloan. She had never been one to back down from anything that even remotely resembled a competition. “Ah, I played at UNC, though. If you follow any college soccer, you’d know us.” It was a perennial powerhouse in women’s college ball and she’d been one of the lucky Tar Heels that had won two back to back championships with the team.

Max toed the ball away gently to rest between them and mulled the comment over quietly— it would have been amazing to play soccer in college, to actually do something with himself that people seemed to assume he couldn’t - to prove all of them wrong and be great at it would have been a dream come true but he hadn’t pursued soccer after his senior season. Looking back on it he was sure he’d been scared that no team in their right mind would sign him, but in truth that was a ridiculous thought— he was capable and athletic and passionate about the game. Whatever natural talent he’d had had been bolstered by endless hours of practice and hard work and he’d been a prospect for at least a couple of schools in Georgia. He shook the thought away with a brief grimace before he offered Sloan a proper smile, “I bet it was really cool. I’m hoping like, writing a really awesome movie does that for me too but we’ll see,” He said finally, his smile slightly more subdued than it had been previously. What little melancholy had settled into him disappeared the moment the challenge met his ears and his grin widened in time with the excitement making his fingertips buzz, “I personally think it’d be a total honor to get my ass beat by a girl if she’s better than me,” he retorted, rolling the ball onto the top of his foot to juggle it up to his knee and then into his hands. “I know UNC,” he assured her, spinning the ball in his hands lazily. “I grew up in Georgia but I watched way more than enough soccer growing up to follow all of it. So, you’re pretty much a badass as far as I’m concerned. You wanna figure out some rules for this?”

The little voice in Charlotte’s head belonging to her father kept whispering. You aren’t good enough for him. You’ll fuck it up. You’ll hurt him. You’ll ruin him. Yet at the same time, another little voice spoke up. What if he’s the reason why it never worked out with anyone else? What if you’re supposed to be with him? 

After all, who met their soulmate at four years old? Years of being told that she wasn’t good enough and being told that anyone who was with her only wanted her for one reason left Charlotte in doubt. She still wasn’t sure when she had fallen in love with Max, only that once it hit her over the head, it so nearly consumed her. He was her prom date. He was the guy she used to have sleepovers with as kids. Their mothers used to give them joint Easter baskets, joint Christmas presents, joint Valentine’s Day presents. He was the guy she would share her food with or swap Airheads with. He was the first person she wanted to see after a weekend at her father’s or the first call she’d make when she finished a long shift. He could come to her door covered in blood and asking for her help and she’d never question him if he said he was innocent. 

Even knowing all of the things she had been through in her life, he still wanted her. He still believed in who she was. “I trust you more than anyone else on this Earth, baby,” she murmured, her hand reaching up to rest on his. Her fingers brushed over his knuckles, almost as soothingly as she could. She loved him so much that it created a near physical ache in her chest and it radiated in every cell in her body, it created a near craving to be near him when she was gone. 

With love came doubt. If she allowed him in, he could leave her and it would crush her, a fate worse than death. Charlotte would be doomed to wander the Earth with a hole in her chest. 

“And I love you, too. I love you so much that it scares me because I can’t lose you, Max. I could lose anybody else in this world, but I can’t lose you. I can’t.” Another tear rolled down her face and she shook her head. “I want everything with you, I want a life, I want you.”

His mother had always teased him about his inability to deal with the sight of a girl crying— it had always been affectionate, and always in praise of the softness that dwelt in him and slipped into everything he did or said or was at every point in his life. They’d been six the first time he’d ever seen Charlotte cry in front of him because ( he learned later, considering he hadn’t really been able to hear the interaction ) a boy at school had made fun of the pigtails her mom had spent thirty minutes perfecting that morning. He’d been a lanky, knobby kneed kid who wasn’t often out at recess because he couldn’t hear well enough to process all of the activity going on around him. He hadn’t been able to hear Ricky Watts say anything to Charlotte but he’d seen her reaction and it had been enough for him to punch Ricky Watts square in the mouth so hard he knocked one of his teeth out. It was the first and only time he got suspended from school, but it cemented the tone of his reactions to Charlotte being upset. His entire world shifted and coalesced into a fine point that began and ended with figuring out how to comfort her and make whatever shitty situation she was dealing with just a little bit better if he could. 

The fact that she thought there was even a chance he would leave her or that she would lose him in any way was almost as heartbreaking as the sight of her crying in the first place, and it took every ounce of Max’s self control not to press his lips to hers and prove exactly how committed he was to spending the rest of his life with her. Instead, he moved his hands from Charlotte’s face— taking her own hand in one of his and guiding it to press against his chest - his heart was still beating furiously but it was strong and present and he smiled softly as he held her palm in place, “You feel that? Every time it beats I want you to remember that I love you,” He murmured, a tenderness in his voice that he reserved only for Charlotte. 

“And every time you remember that,” He continued, still soft and slow and sure. “I want you to remember that I’m never gonna leave you.” He leaned forward enough to rest his head against Charlotte’s in a way that allowed him to speak into her ear softly as he continued to talk, “And when you remember that...” He trailed off, nuzzling the top of her ear with his nose affectionately, “I want you to know that I’m yours.” The final statement was little more than a throaty whisper that slipped from Max’s throat like it had been designed to the moment before he shifted again and ducked his head to kiss Charlotte— softly, but slowly; gently, but with purpose; finally, as his heart beat a tattoo against his ribs and the palm of Charlotte’s hand. 

The man colliding with her body, made her books spread in everywhere, and she leans to fetch each one of them. Once she has got all of them she turned to the man, not being bothered because accidents happen, why not?! ❛ Don’t worry. I’m fine. ❜

Max hadn’t felt himself hit anyone when he’d slowed the soccer ball to a stop but he’d lived a life in which he’d hurt himself in plenty of ways he hadn’t felt when they’d happened, so applying that thought to bumping into someone wasn’t all that much of a leap to make. Still, guilt burned bitter on the back of his tongue and he frowned for a moment before he started to move, intent on helping her collect her things before she took care of it. He blinked several times as she straightened up and looked at him properly with her books tucked in her arms again, “I’m honestly so sorry,” He blurted, a vague distress making his voice a bit higher than it might’ve been otherwise. “I thought I was gonna stop in time and that clearly didn’t happen. Your books are um, they’re okay, right?”

Joss had been out on his morning run. It was a late start for him at the clinic, and instead of spending this time sleeping, he decided to get some fresh air and a good run in. He loved going to the gym and he loved his job, but sometimes a man needed some fresh air. One piece of advice he usually gave his clients was that moving was one big part of recovery. It seemed a bit ironic but that’s how the body worked. And it was his job to make sure it worked.

He ran past the field and not even halfway around the field, a ball came shooting towards his head. Joss ducked and looked around, trying to figure out where it had come from. “Might want to watch your aim,” he deadpanned, looking at the other man carefully. Standing back up straight, Joss found himself stretching again. “But might not want to keep that up with your foot… gonna end up twisting it real bad,” he nodded.

Embarrassment spread over Max in a slow trickle— from the crown of his head and down into his cheeks in the form of a vibrant, scarlet flush that he was basically certain a literal satellite could catch sight of from the atmosphere if how badly his face was burning was an indication. He stammered out a few awkward syllables of apology before he swallowed hard and glanced around Joss to glean where his ball had gone; it was resting peacefully in the grass a few feet from them and he could easily go and grab it if he had half a mind to do so. Unfortunately, his embarrassment had all but glued him in place and he found himself unable to do anything but stare at the man in front of him with such shyness that he found it difficult to meet Joss’s eyes for more than a second or two at a time.

‘I’ll um—’ Max paused, realizing he wasn’t speaking aloud, but rather signing as a first instinct before he cleared his throat hard and squared his jaw— he was an adult, god damn it, and he should have been able to handle a simple accident in which nothing had happened to anyone with just a little more grace than he was demonstrating in the moment. “I’ll keep that in mind,” He said properly, reaching up to scratch the side of his neck and give his restless hands something to do. “I didn’t even mean to catch it like that, honestly— I was just trying to do some juggling drills and it did somethin’ funky is all. I’m not like, a pro or anything but my aim’s not usually that bad.” He smiled, still sheepish but slightly more collected, “Good thing your reflexes are pretty awesome, huh?”

Lennon shrugged. “I suppose I can see that argument” he said. He tended to think of being spooked as involving more fear, but he wasn’t going to argue over something so silly. Lennon, by nature, was an agreeable person most of the time. “You’d be surprised. I see people texting while they cross the street all the time.” People seemed to forget this was London, a place with plenty of terrible drivers who were always in a rush. “I’ve never been much of a sports person” he admitted. “I know enough to follow a game, but I can’t actually play.” He tended to end up tripping over the ball or tangling his legs together. “My mother used to say only boring people got bored and that we should find a way to amuse ourselves.”

“You’d think the ‘look both ways’ lessons from when we were kids would stick considering y’know, it’s actually dangerous not to do that,” Max said, frowning briefly at the mental image Lennon had offered him. “I’m super vigilant on a good day, though, usually— so maybe I’m just a little biased in thinking folks oughta pay more attention to the things going on around ‘em,” he mused, shrugging briefly as he rested his hands on his hips. He hadn’t been signing during the length of their conversation, but it wasn’t really necessary on his part— if he signed at all when he was talking to hearing people it was usually a subconscious effort on his part, muscle memory born from several years being entirely without the ability to hear and having to rely on sign language and lip reading to communicate. On occasions when he was particularly anxious or having trouble gathering his thoughts he had a tendency to sign everything out to himself to mull it over before he spoke aloud. “Like I said, I played when I was a kid and in high school and then dropped off of it. Soccer was the only sport I ever really liked— watching or playing. I’d rather watch a movie or a good TV show if I had to choose something,” he explained, shrugging briefly. “Oh, yeah? I must be a very, very boring dude but I’m game to try and find something to do. You have anything in mind?”

Arek wasn’t sure if this guy thought himself a charmer, or even smooth. He was blushing pretty hard for that. But Arek certainly found him charming, and he smirked a little as he crossed his arms over his chest and waited for him to stop talking, his own gaze looking him over slowly before he met the other’s gaze with amusement clear on his expression. “Some people are easier to sweep up than others,” he told him, playing along. “Sometimes I have to trip them myself. Quite the hassle, really.” Licking his lips, his fingers moved against his arm for a moment, and he dropped his arms, loosening up. “And sometimes the work isn’t even worth it.” He pretended to be disappointed in this, watching Max’s face the entire time. “Are you worth it?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at him playfully. 

As much as his friends tended to tease him about it Max wasn’t entirely oblivious to other people checking him out; it happened rarely ( at least, his noticing it happened supposedly more rarely than people checked him out ) but he could usually catch a particular look or tell when someone was flirting with him based on their body language if their tone of voice wasn’t giving it away. The flush on his cheeks only deepened as he realized Arek was ( potentially? Max couldn’t be entirely confident in his assumption ) checking him out and the thrill of warmth that shot through his stomach was a fairly significant indicator that he didn’t mind that in the slightest. “Oh, I bet - low centers of gravity and all that, you must have to calculate all of that as you’re doing it,” Max retorted, drawing his bottom lip between his teeth in a pointless effort to hide the bright smile that had settled on his lips. A dimple in his cheek became noticeably pronounced as he attempted to reign in his smile as he listened to Arek speak, amusement dancing clearly in his eyes as he watched the other man, “I don’t know,” he admitted finally, still smiling, “Isn’t that something you’re supposed to tell me, babe?” He quirked an eyebrow, a gentle kind of challenge in the gesture as he allowed his eyes to run along Arek’s frame appreciatively.