Chapter Text
*
I'm going home,
Wherever home is.
I'm feeling low
But not at my lowest.
Bliss is ignorance
Just a kid making sense of it
- The Pilot </3
One Ok Rock
*
The sky opened just as Rain stumbled out of the hospital, digging for his keys awkwardly, careful not to jostle his arm wrapped snugly to his chest in a sling.
Cursing under his breath as the misty drizzle began to fall harder, darkening the sidewalk and casting a hazy halo around the trees and bushes lining the side of the hospital, he jogged across the parking lot, hunched over to keep his cast dry.
When he got to his car, his hair was stuck to his face, and his shirt clung to his back, completely soaked. Shivering, he climbed in, jamming the keys into the ignition and cranking the heat.
He glanced at his cast and felt a wave of relief when he noticed that the black plaster was completely dry. Slumped in his seat, he waited for the car to heat up, observing the rain pour down the windshield like thick rivers.
Mondays were cursed. Rain was convinced.
First, he overslept his alarm—all eight of them.
If not for his emergency alarm, which went off like an air horn in his ear shortly after six, he would have missed his first shift of the day. He was already on thin ice with his boss and could not afford to lose his job.
Missed breakfast. The power bar he had managed to scarf down between customers hadn’t held him for long.
Second, P’Hoon fucked off to hang with his girlfriend in the middle of their shift, leaving Rain with a line of customers and a list of tasks that would take forever to complete alone.
On the one hand, he didn’t have to listen to P’Hoon wax poetic about his latest trysts all day; on the other. He could have used more hands.
They say things come in threes, and Rain doesn’t even know why he’s surprised when he trips over a trashcan at the end of his shift and breaks his wrist and cell phone in one fell swoop.
Leading to his current predicament. He was sitting in his rust bucket of a car—home sweet home—in the middle of a torrential downpour.
“Fuck my life.” Rain groans, slapping his cheek lightly before scrubbing a hand down his face.
*
He should have stayed at the the hospital. The drive is perilous. The rain is coming down in sheets so thick that his windshield wipers can’t keep up.
Knuckles white, Rain drove as carefully as he dared, well below the speed limit. He didn’t dare go faster. Not with one hand.
When his tire blows, making the car wobble dangerously, Rain pulls over, turns on his hazard lights, and hunches over his steering wheel, on the brink of tears and a panic attack.
He’s fucked.
F.U.C.K.E.D
Fucked.
He has no phone, no friends, and no spare tire.
Rain doesn’t know what to do. He wants to throw up.
Swallowing the thick lump of emotion suddenly lodged in his throat, Rain barely hears the knuckled rasp against the driver’s side window over the rain and his shaky, panicked breaths.
The second rasp increases in volume, causing Rain to flinch. Startled, he catches a glimpse of black in his peripheral vision. Struggling with one hand, he rolls down his window swiftly, shivering as the cold rain and wind hit his face, even with the biker leaning in closer.
Raindrops roll down the man’s open helmet visor, dripping in what feels like slow motion.
Eyes that intense belonged in dramas and Hollywood films, not staring at Rain as if he could devour him alive amidst a typhoon on the freeway! Irises like molten embers, framed by lashes so long that Rain found himself almost envious.
‘Cute.’
Rain blinked.
“Pop the trunk. I’ll change your tire.”
“Thank you, Phi, but you don’t have to.” His shoulders sag, and Rain wonders if it’s possible to melt in a puddle of shame. He feels like a puppy caught doing something naughty.
A strong eyebrow rose questioningly, and Rain’s cheeks flushed. “That was the spare.”
Didn’t he say Mondays are cursed?
“I was supposed to get it fixed after work,” Rain tried to explain. He could feel the look of disapproval radiating from the helmet. “But then this happened.” Motioning to his arm, tightly bound in the sling, he couldn’t help but hope the man believed him or at least took pity.
“You’ll need to call for a tow.” The man’s voice rumbled.
Rain nodded, lips pressed together thinly, brows furrowing. He could feel the man staring.
As he reached for his bag, he retrieved his cell phone. The broken screen emitted an unsettling glare in the present light while he awkwardly handled the device.
“You probably think I’m irresponsible.” He meets the man’s gaze. “I swear I’m not. Today’s just been one thing after another. Everything that could go wrong did.”
Why he feels the need to explain escapes him. Rain usually keeps his head down and his mouth shut. But this stranger feels different. Put together.
There’s an aura about him that screams, ‘I take zero bullshit, so don’t even try me.’ His tailored jacket was black and sodden, and Rain shivered.
Rain isn’t anything remotely close to being put together. He scraped by, working eighty hours a week for an ungrateful, miserable cunt of a boss, living off instant noodles so he could put fuel in his car and keep the heat on at night.
No, Rain was under no delusions. He clutched on with brittle fingernails, desperately hoping things would get better but not holding his breath.
There was no way that he could afford a tow. A new tire alone would eat into his meagre savings. If he wanted to eat for the next month, he’d have to forgo a new phone.
“My phone broke when my wrist did.” He joked and held up the device, his voice shaky with emotion. “Don’t suppose you know a garage?”
The biker studies Rain for a long moment, enough for Rain to fixate on those dark, abyssal eyes and quietly hope. Hope for what, Rain isn’t sure.
“I’ll call for a tow.” The helmet and the rain muffle the man’s voice, but Rain feels like he could melt into his seat anyway.
“Really, Phi?” He asked hesitantly at first. He can’t help but breathe a relieved “Thank you!” when the biker nods.
“Right,” Rain blinks, suddenly aware of how hard it was raining. “Come inside? I can’t do much, but at least you’ll be warm and dry?”
He doesn’t wait for a reply, already stretching awkwardly across the centre console, fingers wrapping around the manual lock and yanking it up. It takes less than fifteen seconds, but Rain regrets it immediately, pain shooting through his broken wrist. Biting his lip and suppressing a pained moan, he tosses his bag onto the mess of blankets and pillows in the back seat and waits for the biker to get inside.
*
Rain’s brain short-circuits, like a breaker popping off in the middle of a thunderstorm—apt considering the weather—when the biker removes his helmet and tugs the navy gator down his face in the safety of Rain’s car.
Fuck.
He can’t be real.
He’s an angel. A literal fucking angel. Sent by some god above who had clearly taken pity on Rain after such a shit day.
The man bun suits him in a way that sends butterflies dancing in Rain’s belly. Ink bangs accentuate abyssal eyes, cheekbones and chiseled jaw.
Rain knows with absolute certainty that he could worship this man for eternity, and it wouldn’t be enough.
“You’re so damn handsome.”
Rain’s cheeks burn. It had slipped out before he could stop himself.
Amused, the biker grins slightly, placing an arm on the helmet nestled in his lap. “I appreciate the compliment.” He observes Rain with curiosity for a few lingering moments before unzipping his wet jacket and pulling out his phone. “I’ll call the tow truck.”
“Oh,” Rain nods, “Go ahead. Don’t mind me.”
Rain amused himself with his phone, sneaking glances at the biker from the corner of his eye. The biker carries a casual elegance that Rain has never experienced before. Running his thumb across the cracked screen, Rain wonders what’s wrong with him.
In his nineteen years on this earth, no one had ever affected him like this. No one. Not that he put much effort into finding a partner to begin with. Given his lifestyle, Rain’s romantic life is nonexistent.
He flung his useless phone into the back seat carelessly, aware of the man watching him but choosing to ignore him, and then readjusted his sling. The strap pressed uncomfortably against his shoulder.
“The truck is on its way, but it will take a while due to the rain.” The man said, tucking his phone away.
“Oh,” Rain nodded. “I figured.” The road was nearly empty, with traffic reduced to a mere trickle.
“Mn.”
Deciding it was safe enough, Rain unfastened his seatbelt and twisted in his seat to face the man properly. His back rested against the door, shoulders pressed into the rain-chilled glass.
“I guess I should probably introduce myself,” he smiled sheepishly. “I’m Rain.”
“Phayu.” The man replied with a polite wai.
Phayu.
The Storm.
*