Work Text:
AUGUST 2007
It's raining.
It's been grey all morning, drizzling intermittently; perhaps it’s gotten heavier, but it started as an annoying mist that needled at his face and frizzed his hair when he took the garbage out. It's no gloomier than London, not really, but it seems that way without all the city lights and traffic.
Drip, drip, drip.
The shop is so quiet that he's had time to start the washing up already. Drowsy parents have come and gone, fetching fresh bread for the family breakfast. Many of them are cloistered in the church now; the rest, presumably, are snuggled under blankets at home, sipping tea, watching rain drops slide down windowpanes.
Drip, drip, drip.
The tap in the small sink is dripping, too. Stupid thing. He's had it fixed twice already.
The door chimes.
He ought to hurry out to greet them, but it's not a day to hurry. They'll wait, or perhaps they won't. His eyelids are heavy when he blinks. He sets the baking sheet aside to dry and slowly walks through his kitchen towards the shop, drying his hands on a soft towel.
An unfamiliar voice.
"Are you really sure...? Tiny town, and we're right by the church... Shouldn't we stop by yours first...?"
Another voice. Sarah. "Don't be silly. It's fine. Harry's great. Didn't you see the little flag there?"
The unfamiliar voice belongs to a woman of middling height. She has rumpled, short blonde hair, a smattering of freckles, and a great deal of glitter all over her face and her clothes.
Sarah's equally sparkly. Water drips from her pigtails and from their bedraggled rainbow ribbons. Her hot pants are distinctly not suited to the current weather.
"Sorry about the glitter." Sarah beams. When she seats herself, he thinks he sees a cloud of sparkles puff up around her, like Pigpen in those old Peanuts comics.
"Now this looks like a story."
It might be the first real smile on his face since before the parties kicked off Friday night, while he was home and quiet and alone in his bed. Bakers and their dough are both early to rise.
"This is Christina." Sarah bites her lip, smiling, and looks over at her companion. "We met, erm... yesterday morning."
"Sarah said she was taking me to get the tea and pastries that have cured all of her hangovers. When she said we'd get away from the crowds, I didn't realize we were coming out to the country." She sounds like she's talking to Harry, but her eyes never leave Christina's face as she says this and laughs quietly.
They're beautiful. They look at each other with such giddy shyness. He imagines them thinking: Are you a passing Pride encounter who will fade into fond memory? Will you remain a friend? Will you be my lover? Could you be even more?
To his eyes, they're radiant with love. They glow with possibility. He knows the odds are good that he'll never see Christina again after today – but he hopes he will.
They eat slowly, and drink pots of tea, and get crumbs all over the table. The doors of the church open up across the square, and the first few people drift out. Harry wonders if any of them will come in.
The gutters keep dripping and the rain keeps trickling. There's no change or warning; there's just the sudden flash and the boom of thunder seconds later.
“Fuck!” he yelps. “Sorry.”
“Holy crap,” Sarah agrees as the drizzle abruptly becomes a downpour pounding against the windows. She and Christina both stare in shock at the strange weather for a long moment.
“When was the last time we even had a thunderstorm?” Christina wonders.
Sarah jumps up suddenly. “Let's go out in it!”
“You're crazy,” Christina laughs. “It's cold!”
“Come on!” Sarah pulls a welter of rainbow cloth out of her backpack and grins. “It's still Pride! And it's a thunderstorm! We can't miss this, come on, Chris!”
“I'm not so sure...”
Sarah starts pulling at the fabric, separating it out into individual flags. “Look, Harry, I've got like five. Wanna?” She smiles hopefully, holding out a rainbow flag towards him.
He reaches out without any conscious intention and slowly closes his hand around the fabric. “Yeah.” He's smiling, beaming, he realizes, as another flash of lightning illuminates the shop.
“We should hurry. Before the storm ends!”
“Yes!” Sarah is laughing, thrusting another flag at Christina. “Come on!”
Sarah runs out the door and spreads her arms wide under the torrent of rain. “Oh, jeez, okay,” Christina mutters, draping the flag over her head like it will protect her from the weather before she steps out the door. Harry follows behind her.
Sarah grabs Christina's hand and hoists her flag in the other. “Come on,” she says again, and pulls on Christina's hand until they're running slowly down the road, damp flags hanging limply from their other hands. Sarah is howling with laughter.
A few people whoop and clap from the church steps, clearly huddled under the eaves to watch the storm. A few people dash from the church doors to their cars.
Harry just stands for a minute, feeling a bit ridiculous when he realizes he's still wearing his apron. Water sluices down his face, and he feels his hair growing heavy with the rain, but he feels so light. He grabs the flag in both hands and flips it so that he's holding it hanging down behind him. There's another flash, another booming roll of thunder. It makes him laugh, feeling like a kid, and it makes him run.
He hears a wolf whistle from Miss Carrie; he tries to wink towards the church, but he just ends up blinking furiously as rain gets in his eyes. The flag clings wetly to his back, but in his mind he feels like he's flying free with a cape streaming behind him. He hops onto the grass. It squelches under his feet as he runs after Sarah and Christina. The world is wet and grey around them, but they are running and blazing with colour. Harry feels connected to everything around him, alone but not really alone, bright and free for this brief moment in the wild storm.
