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Memories of rain were few and far between; the further John looked back, the fewer grey clouds he saw and the more sunshine blindsided his skin.
Perhaps that was why he took the chance to sit outside this afternoon, the rain pattering against his hair and dying his overalls a darker shade of blue, drops of rain rolling down his skin like tears that he couldn't - and wouldn't - cry. Wind whistled past the deck and metal railing, sea growling angrily against the windchimes meagre song, winter overpowering what little remnant of summer dared to remain. It looked like a scene from a movie, John had no doubt about that. But it was peaceful, and that was all he needed. A moment of peace and reprieve against the cacophony of thoughts that had swum around his head recently.
It wasn’t often that John found himself bothered about the thoughts in his head - not unless he was undertaking a mission - but even just walking around the boat that had found itself as his home, his mind enjoyed wandering into the darkest corners of his imagination. Everything he hid from even himself, John was sure his imagination dug up. Dreams he’d ignored, his heartbeat picking up every time he heard a familiar voice, even if it was only far away.
John stared up into the sky as he felt a rush of warmth to his cheeks, one that he was all too eager to reach up and scrub away; his hands met only with a shy vermillion that fought against the cooling droplets of the rain. A grumbled sigh fell drunkenly out of his lips, cursing a name that felt so easy to say.
It was all that damn Francis’ fault.
And worse still, John was going crazy trying to figure out if the other knew what he was doing or not. Every smile, pat on the back, idle comment - it all lingered far too long in John’s mind. It all festered and fell into a conglomerate on his heart, buzzing through his mind late at night with no calm. Memories and mimics of jokes that he hadn’t laughed at, or words he should have said piled up and up until dawn broke and he was unable to rest.
Perhaps that’s why he wanted to spend some time out in the rain. There was nothing there but him and the absence of his thoughts. Just the rain pattering against his skin. Though, as with thoughts that meandered through his head at night, there was never any rest from that smiling face. The same appeared to be true about reality, too, as a red umbrella fell over his eyes and prevented rain from landing on his face.
“ I can’t imagine it’s very pleasant, being rained on out here on your lonesome. “
John felt his heart shoot into his mouth, stuck for words as he watched Francis sit beside him on the rain-sodden bench, umbrella held delicately in his hand. His face was outlined perfectly in the low light of the hidden sun, smile presented easily over his features, even present in his eyes. John found himself enraptured for a few seconds, shaking his head as he tore his eyes away and into his lap, stumbling for a response.
“ It’s fine. “
“ You could have fooled me, old sport. It might not be my place to make a comment, but it looked like you were ruminating on something or another. “
John wanted to push him off the bench. The bastard knew exactly what he was doing, and John wanted to give it to him . His stomach tied himself in a knot a thousand times over as Francis shifted his grip on the umbrella, each finger delicately placed after the other. Far be it for John to have noticed before, but his hands were far stronger than he’d initially given Francis credit for - rough around the edges, though almost unnoticeable. They were safe - warm.
John tried to clear his head, but the only thought that had rolled into his mind’s eye was the possibility that Francis wasn’t doing this on purpose at all. Rather, John was highlighting all of his perfections and creating scenarios that only existed in his head. He wasn’t sure which reality he was scared of more.
“ I’m not thinkin’ about anything. I’m just enjoying the rain. “
He could feel Francis’ eyes boring through him, sifting over everything as if the feeble facade he had up didn’t exist at all. Steinbeck felt another rush of warmth to his cheeks as he watched Francis’ hand move idly, a thoughtful hum on his lips.
“ Oh? I never took you for the type to enjoy it. “
“ Well… I didn’t exactly do this back at home. Didn’t have the time. “
“ So you're making up for lost “you” time, then? “
“ Somethin’ like that. “
“ And you don’t mind me intruding on that? “
John found his mind clear for a few seconds, and his voice rang out like a bell as he looked up to see Francis smiling at him, and a smile twitched onto his face himself.
“ I don’t mind. “
Francis shifted his legs to cross them, a faint chuckle escaping him as he watched John shift himself, eyes moving over to the red umbrella over the both of them. John had to look at the fabric for a little longer before it clicked as to what it was - the only present he’d ever given Francis, and even then, you couldn’t even really call it a present. It was John’s umbrella, but after he’d seen Francis get caught in the rain for about 5 minutes and had his silent fun, he’d given Francis his umbrella with little more than a flippant look.
“ Alright. Then I’ll join you for a little while. Wouldn’t want you to get too cold out here, old sport. “
John nodded vaguely, turning his attention away from the deep blue of Francis’ vast eyes and back out into the ocean, casting a line for anything that would catch his attention. Nothing he found, however, could quite match the pounding of his chest as he caught sight of Francis’ white sleeve - embroidered with gold, shimmering even without too much sunlight. He vaguely remembered a dream he’d had where Francis had asked him to fix the hems once or twice, and he’d accepted without a second thought.
It wasn’t that he thought Francis was incapable, but there was something about the almost curious look in his eyes about everything that drew John in. Over and over again, he’d catch Francis looking at him with that curious expression - ever learning, ever thinking. It used to freak John out; fueled his paranoia, his hate for something that he didn’t understand. Slowly, though, he grew to almost like the way that Francis would observe and study, the way he’d grin when John caught him watching. It was like playing a game.
And the more he indulged in that game, John found he was indulging in himself too. More things he didn’t understand, more things he thought that he didn’t want to remember - and paradoxically, he didn’t want to forget. Many a restless night all because of that damn smile.
John shifted his right hand up to his chest, pressing against the fabric of his shirt tightly as he felt his heartbeat increase. Something quiet spoke in him, only two words or so, but they’d planted an idea in his head that he’d not fully registered as his own. His fingertips pulsed with his heartbeat, that only increased in tempo the more he dwelled on the idea.
Tell him.
The more he thought, the more he lost he got - apprehension and pride fought their bloody war in more than a second, swords clashing in his mind that made little more noise than the rain pattering against the red umbrella over them. Cursing himself silently, trying to force himself to stay quiet to no avail, John sat up straight, keeping his hand clutched tightly against his shirt as if it’d provide any kind of defence against his self-enacted eviction.
“ Francis. “
John tried to say something more, but the words became lodged in his throat as Francis turned to look at him, those calculating eyes boring into him with a simple smile. There was a faint pause as John watched Francistake in every detail, and he swore his heart imploded when he saw that calculation turn into a cool understanding. His facial features softened as he waited for John to make another move, say another word or even just retract his sudden proclamation of Francis’ name; nothing happened.
John watched with tenacity as Francis shifted his leg over one side of the bench, sitting completely towards John as he found himself mirroring the other’s movements, albeit far more shakily. He closed his hands together against his legs, forcing a gasp to stay in his chest as Francis reached a hand of his own to rest on John’s cheek. Carefully, only moving once Francis was sure that he was accustomed to the feeling, he trailed his fingers down, resting his thumb and forefinger against John’s chin.
“ May I? “
John was all too aware of his own quivering, how his body shifted and became malleable under Francis’ grip. It would have been embarrassing, had it not been something that he’d actively daydreamed about, thoughts he’d banished to a different place at a different time. A wordless nod was his form of confirmation, though the shake of Francis’ head sent a whole new wave of apprehension down his body, his spare hand resting on top of John’s own.
“ If you don’t want me to, I won’t. Just say. “
John shook his head, stomach turning in knots. The idea of coming so close and yet so far was sickening, tantalizing. Like teasing a dog with a bone and not giving it to him. He gathered his breath, managing to mumble out an audible and somewhat cohesive sentence.
“ N... No, I .. You can. “
“ That’s all I wanted to hear. “
Francis watched John’s eyes flutter shut as he leaned in, connecting their lips easily as if they’d done it one thousand times before. John relaxed his clenched hands, threading their fingers together lightly as he leaned closer to the warmth that Francis radiated, heartbeat audible in his ears as John fought to keep his eyes shut. Heat rushed about his face as he leaned in a little more, heart dancing to the siren song of jumbled thoughts and euphoria.
The kiss, whilst brief, left neither of them complaining, foreheads nudged against each other as the umbrella over them kept them surprisingly dry.
John may have still been cold, but Francis was far closer to him this time, and that was warm enough for him.