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Rain

You had the whole reunion thing planned. In your head, you played it over and over again, adding details to your fantasy – you would wear your best shirt, looking good but not like you were trying too hard. When you arrived, he would run to you, marveling at your beauty, to then confess his undying love and devotion and then you would, of course, make out on the hallway.

It was a beautiful dream, a five star fanfiction with hundreds of comments all saying “damn I wish that was my life”.

But that was, of course, not the case.

Things were initially going as planned – you had stopped at the airport bathroom and turned it into your own episode of Queer Eye, changing your relatable, yet hardly attractive, “hi I just spent half a life on an airplane and now I want to die” look to something that surely bumped you from average to an 8/10. Maybe even a 9. Your hair looked soft and shiny, falling in small waves all the way to your mid-back. Your blouse was hanging off your shoulder, the white making you look pure and contrasting against your dark jeans, which you knew made your butt look amazing. Make up light, goals clear, you were ready to either face the beginning of a beautiful love story or a painfully awkward reunion – whatever came first.

You weren’t, however, prepared for the rain.

Walking down the road to the address Namjoon had sent you, you couldn’t stop your dramatic self from worrying that the downpour could be a bad sign – clearly, whatever force that controlled the universe was trying to tell you that you should just go back, that your life was enough of a joke on its own and going through with this would only be giving Satan ammunition to further embarrass you.

But where on earth would you  even go? You couldn’t just stay on the street – much less go back to Brazil. God, how would you explain going back to your parents?

“Yes, mom, I had to come back here. See, it was raining and surely that could only mean I’m going to die alone.”

Knowing the mom you had, she would probably send you back to Korea in a shoe box, without even a “FRAGILE” warning.

Rather than facing your mom’s wrath, you chose to just keep going. Your shoes were already wet; your hair surely looked like overcooked noodles, so Satan could just suck it. Rain or not, it was too late to go back and while your parents did raise an overreacting procrastinator, they did not raise a quitter.

Angrily shaking your fist at the forces of the universe, you walked to the apartment complex, texting Namjoon on your way so he could buzz you in. Dripping on the elevator floor, you tried your best to not look like you were an extra on Titanic but really there was only so much you could do.

With a surprising amount of fake determination, you made your way to the door, chin high and hair on a ponytail, ready to deal with whatever life decided to throw at you. You had not come so far to just turn back – on the other side of the door was a (fingers crossed!) attractive men that you had been in love since you were fifteen and you’d be damned if you let the freaking rain hold you back. You were a woman with a plan, wet socks or not!

But when Namjoon opened the door, looking so much better than you even thought he would, your plans packed their things and left, waving an awkward goodbye and looking apologetic.

And they seemed to have taken your sense of decorum and personal space with them, because you just threw yourself on Namjoon’s arms without a second thought.