#rhysrainer

@rhysrainer

      ON A DAY like today with sweat dripping down his back beneath the hot, hot late-summer sun barely relieved by the tall mountains of the Appalachian Trail, James Platt carried heavy box after heavy box inside his new home. He’d started with his guitar- wanting it to be stolen least of all his items in the event some asshole decided to take advantage of unsuspecting students unloading their things- and wound up here, with his box of necessary books. It was on his sixth and final trip in that he slammed the trunk of his sky-blue Toyota Prius and balanced the last box between two exhausted arms that he was no longer alone. 

      A boy with bleach blonde hair and clothes that mirrored his own, only with the slightest bit more flair, pulled into the wide driveway right beside him. James smiled brightly and nodded before he jogged into the house, setting his belongings down in the living space against the wall with the others, not sure which room he’d take just yet for he was the only one here thus far and with plenty of choices, he wanted to assure his housemates had their own preferred comfort.

     Quickly, he hurried outside to greet the newcomer. His ripped-at-the-knee jeans frayed and tickled the backs of his calves and James reached down to itch them as he gestured, again, with an incline of his jaw.

@rhysrainer

It was early afternoon on a Monday and the bar was quiet, as to be expected. Students and professors were still trickling in and townies were stuck at work. Stella didn’t expect anyone to come in for quite sometime, so she figured she’d get used to the bar and maybe practice making some easy college favorites. She was new to working behind the bar, she’d worked retail and even waitressed before, but she never was lucky enough to get promoted to bartender, until now. Not that it was a big accomplishment. College bars needed all the help they could get, but the tips were still better than anywhere else. 

Stella was crouched on the ground, hidden behind the bar, looking for different mixers to practice drinks for when she actually got customers.  In that moment, she heard the door open and she jolted to stand up, banging the top of her head on the corner or the bar. The glass she was holding fell to the ground, shattering at her feet. Stella held the top of her head, rubbing where she had crashed into the bar. “Fuck,” she muttered, wincing at the incomer. “Shit, I’m sorry, I’m new here and you startled me. Just give me a minute to make sure I don’t have any further brain damage and I’ll be right with you,” she told the stranger approaching the bar. 

RHYS & JAMES // Housemates, musicians, artists.

I have no idea what I’m doing, but I hope to do it with integrity.