It's raining pretty hard now, as Adam and I predicted. The trees are swaying harshly back and fourth while the wind howls with fury. The others don't seem to mind, though, as they're gathered on the floor playing Uno within the candlelight. The power went out a couple minutes ago, presumably due to the storm knocking down some power lines.

"Seto isn't here yet," I hear Jason's low voice remind the group every two or so minutes. "I think something happened to him."

"Maybe he's staying at the café until the rain dies out," Tyler, whose soaking wet and sitting on top of a towel, reasons. "Maybe we can drop him a call?"

"I don't have his number, he got a new phone but hasn't bothered to tell anyone about his new number," Adam groans, over exaggerating his eye roll. "All I have is his landline."

I perk up slightly and take out my phone from my pocket. I shuffle through my contacts, finding the brunet's name followed by a spam of purple emojis. Without the others' acknowledgement, I send him a concerned text.

Hey, you alright?

I'm about to put my phone away when it buzzes. I freeze for a moment, feeling my heart beat out of my chest. Someday, my heart is going to stop and I'll die young. It's like it can't beat by itself—I'm always feeling so nervous. I didn't expect Seto to reply so quickly, so I take a look at his message.

I'm stuck at the café parking lot in my car, waiting out the rain. I'm scared, like really scared

The last part of his message stuck to me. Why would he be scared? It's just a little rain. I head up towards the nearby window, pushing the indigo curtains to the side to get a good look at the weather. I see flashes of white, followed by loud thunder, over the horizon. It's like the sky is angry.

The wind continues to howl and the panes of glass shake a bit.

I'm coming
Send me the address

Without a word, I grab my jacket that's been laying on the couch. Ty looks at me, a blank expression on his face before it transformed into bewilderment. I head towards the kitchen, opening the front door and gazed out. The rain is getting stronger, there's no doubt about that, so I had to be quick.

"Where are you going?" Ty grabs my shoulder, pulling me back. "Come on, dude, just wait out the storm."

"I need to go," I enunciate without stuttering. Pushing his hand aside, I head outside and bolt towards my car. There's a branch sitting on the windshield—the glass luckily isn't cracked. I brush it aside and sit in the driver's seat.

You don't need to come
432 Baker's Street

The wind is roaring now as I start my car engine.

I know I don't need to
It's because I want to

There's a crack of thunder over the horizons, sending chills down my spine as the flash of white fills the darkened sky. I hastily begin to drive, having already entered the address into the map system on my phone. Maybe a bit too fast for a storm as I feel my grip on the steering wheel beginning to lose overall control—the actual wheels have no traction against the road as it slides like a skater on ice.

Up ahead, I manage to spot a red light. I'm usually a law abiding citizen, but today, what's the trouble of running it? I hit the gas, speeding past it, figuring that no idiot would be driving in such a storm. It's a bit too fast, as my car begins to spin against the sleek pavement. Everything happens too fast and I can't play dumb this time.

It's heading down the road and hitting the brakes doesn't do anything. I'm spinning, like one of those teacup rides at a carnival I use to go to as a child. There is no friction between the tires and road, so at this point I'm praying for some divine intervention. I was never really religious—couldn't give two shits about what went on when I went to church with my parents—but I guess a good prayer would help.

I do a weird hand-sign, cross my fingers, and continuously stomp on the breaks. The car slowly begins to cease its circular joyride and manages to come to a complete stop. The rain, however, still was harsh. I could barely see anything, but it appeared I was at the right address (according to my phone). I attempted to park on what looked to be the side of the street, and got out of my car.

The rain hits my body like tiny, stinging daggers. I'd assume it was beginning to form into hail at this point, but regardless I trudged through the thick fog, as well as the mixture of wet and stone. In the distance I could spot a pair of headlights, and as I got closer, a car. The windows were darkly tinted—I couldn't determine if it was Seto or not. He doesn't seem like the type for tinted windows, but what am I to judge?

I stroll up to the side and bang on the window, loud enough for him to hopefully hear. By this point, I'm drenched. The gel in my hair has escaped its prison of follicles, while my clothes soaked up the rain like a sponge. I'm sure everything on me, from my wallet to phone, doesn't appreciate the abrupt shower. I continue to knock.

"Seto?" I manage to shout over the storm.

It's rude of me to just abruptly open someone else's car door, but I do, anyway. It's blissfully warm inside, like a sauna, and for once I'm happy he has the heat on full blast. Seto's crouched over in the driver's seat, knees buckled and huddled towards his face as weak sobs escape his fragile posture. He sniffles and gazes towards me with bloodshot eyes and tear-stained cheeks. He flinches at the sound of lightning crackling in the distance.

"Mind if I step in?" I say, still standing slouched in front of the car door.

He gives a weak nod, to which I take as a yes. I sit inside, making sure to shut the door. I notice his damp clothes in the backseat, as well as an umbrella. He's wearing a purple hoodie and jeans yet his hair clumps together in thick strands, clearly dripping wet.

"Always prepared, huh?" I chuckle, pointing towards the umbrella. He doesn't respond. The mixture of rain and hail plopping against the roof of the car fills the silence. I clear my throat. "I guess I'll do most of the talking, then, to ease you a bit and distract you from the storm."

I'm not really much of a talker since I spend most of my time isolated from society. Whether it would be in my room, or outdoors, I rarely allow myself to be provoked into conversations. There's a wave of nausea that hits me once I realize the weight of the situation—that churning in my stomach eagerly pleading for me to escape. It's fear, but I can't allow it to take over. Hell, I don't even know why.

"You like books right? Oh, what am I saying, you're a librarian, of course you like books. I haven't read any books, like actual books asides from comic books and manga. I like the Captain America comics," I give an awkward chuckle, as well as my best attempts as to smile warmly despite how cold I'm feeling. Maybe I'll die of hypothermia if I don't take these wet clothes off.

"Yeah, I read manga too. I just got really into the Tokyo Ghoul series and it's just really good. I'm not a word type of guy, as you can assume from my vocabulary, I'm more type of a picture guy. I like looking at pictures—things that I find picturesque. I draw for a living, so I mean I have to like it and have some sort of admiration for it. I'm not a telling type of guy, but a showy, if that makes—"

"Brice," Seto interrupts in a small voice. I hush a little, heart beginning to pound. Did I say something wrong? Should I apologize? Could he be irritated by me?

"Why—" he breathes out, turning his gaze away from me and onto the floor. I notice his wet shoes on the ground, as well as his socks. His feet are tiny, but I digress. "Why are you just—"

By his tone of voice, he sounds angry. There's a type of grit to his teeth; the way he enunciates his words is like no other. He's shaking, huffing hard and biting back tears. I want to hug him, but I'm soaking wet and I'm sure he doesn't have another spare change of clothes.

"—Why are you just so you?" He finishes, breaking down into a helpless sob.

"What?" I deadpan, utterly stunned. "I-I'm not quite following."

He sighs, shaking his head and laughing. "You're just so you. It's indescribable, really. Coming out here, coming for me, a stranger that you don't feel comfortable around. I see it in your eyes—that fear of yours: being judged. After all of that, despite your asocial behavior, Ty says you're 'good' and I hate it."

I open my mouth to speak, but he continues, "You're too nice for your own good, Brice. I hate it—I hate that you're too good. Life's too short to be good and you don't realize that. You could've died driving here, Brice, it's practically a hurricane out there. You could've just stayed in Adam's house, but you didn't."

"Why? Just why, Brice? You don't even know me! I practically texted everyone I knew who was at that house, and you're the only one who—you're the only one who came out for me! That isn't fair, especially to—"

"I came here because I wanted to," I say, pulling him into a tight hug. He flinches, but relaxes as he sobs into my chest. "I came here knowing the risks—I came here knowing that you needed help. Hell, it doesn't matter if you were a stranger or my closest friend!"

I truly don't know anything about him. He's distraught as he continues to sob, bringing out choked whimpers and a stream of never ending tears. I feel his hurt—did he truly text everyone? Was I simply the last resort?

He's a mop of brunet hair, a total train wreck in the making. He's letting himself unravel in front of me while I sit dumbfounded, trying to comprehend the meaning behind this. Somewhere, there's a person feeling betrayed. I wouldn't be so ecstatic either if my friends hadn't replied to my cries for help.

Lightning strikes and he flinches. I stroke his hair, gently. "It's okay," I murmur, loud enough for him to hear. The rain picks up again, as well as the wind, as it shakes the car slightly.

"Do you want to wait out the rain, or should we drive back to Adam's house? I can drive us back, it's no issue to me. You wouldn't have to worry either, I'm a good driver."

I have to admit, that last part was a total lie: I almost crashed my own car. What else was I suppose to say? Despite the fact that I'm a shitty driver, I'll get us back in one piece?

"What about your own car?" He questions, wiggling out of my hug. He wipes his face with his dampened sleeve, which is awfully counterproductive, but I didn't question it.

"It's fine, I can always get it back later," I merely shrug. He gives a nod.

"Alright," he pauses for a moment, preparing to crawl over and switch seats, "I trust you."

I feel my heartstrings pang.

~

pretty shitty, haven't written quality shit in a while — hopefully there isn't a big difference in my writing style from previous chapters and in this one; kinda rusty

haven't updated since august of last year, so surprise i guess??

-xiao