Rain Boy (phan)

Chapter 1

There was something about rain which never failed to make Phil smile. He supposed that rain was typically thought of as depressing, but to him it seemed anything but that. The water that fell from the sky was cool against his cheeks when he stood outside during grey filled mornings. It made everything smell alive and fresh. It's soothing sounds were best at night, their light pitter patter falling on the roof as Phil fell asleep. Rain brought life. It made everything clean and refreshed. It seemed like one of the happiest things possible to Phil.

The only problem was Phil lived in a town on the ocean. A place where, during the summer, people would travel from all over to visit where days were warm and sun consistently fell over the little beaches. That was what made it possible for Phil's family to run a small hotel, so it wasn't all bad. But it meant there were no heavy summer thunderstorms or thick warm rains. He had to wait for the winter before any water would even think of falling out of the sky.

That ended up being better in a way. In the winter there was nobody staying at the hotel, so on rainy days Phil was often free to do whatever he pleased. His winters were empty of work and instead replaced with staring out windows in awe. Or walking along the beach without an umbrella and just feeling. Feeling the cool power that feel out of the sky. Experiences like that were something Phil came to count as important. He thought that too many people didn't pause to simply live. And rain was personally his favourite way to do just that.

Phil could think and talk about rain for ages. He knew the types of clouds that showed up before storms and often knew better than the weather reports when the water would actually fall. There wasn't many people that he could talk to about all this though. His parents had long heard enough and Phil's best friends had moved away as soon as they were old enough (people were generally trying to move away from small towns, though Phil couldn't quite figure out why). He had a few other friends but they only lived there during the summer.

Yet Phil decided that rain was something that was just as good alone. When there was nobody there to muddle the clear sounds with their own. So he didn't mind the lack of people to talk to when he was on one of his endless rain walks. Or maybe Phil just had a way of making anything positive. Even grey clouds.

One of the best spots to experience rain was in a coffee shop. Or at least that's what Phil thought, and given the subject matter he was pretty much an expert. Coffee shops were reserved for the days that were more storm than anything else. When even Phil didn't want to be caught in the swirling weather outside. When everything was better when watched from a distance, while cozy and a warm drink in hand.

Phil's town didn't have many options for coffee shops to start with - or at least many that were still open in the off season - and out of the couple that were left, only one had good windows. It had seats where Phil could face those huge windows too. Where he could sit and write or draw or think; whatever he decided to do that day. Rain meant no work. It meant he could do the things that were pastimes that would most likely never amount to anything. It meant he could write poems that would never be shared and spend time thinking about each word. Because Phil knew he would work at the family hotel for the rest of his life, but those winter days were an escape.

Phil knew it was a storm day as soon as he woke up. But that was more from the house creaking because of wind and the sounds of dripping water that had permeated his dreams, than any knowledge about the clouds.

Once he got out of bed and established that, yes, it was a storm today, big and perfect for watching, Phil shrugged on his favourite coat. He gathered his notebook, which to little surprise was wrinkled with water stains, and walked against the rain the few block to the coffee shop he loved so dearly.

"The usual?" The worker asked, soon after Phil had walked through the door, dripping as he took off his coat that had been dry only a few short minutes ago.

"Yeah," Phil said with a smile as he hung his coat up.

See, Phil probably should have mentioned this particular worker when he talked about which coffee shop was best for watching the rain. Because this worker was reason enough to choose this coffee shop over any other.

"It'll be ready in a minute," The worker, Dan, as Phil had learned a few weeks ago, said.

"Thanks," Phil replied, before sitting at the table he always did. There was never anyone in that seat, as air tended to make it's way through the cracks around the window frame and it was often cooler than the rest of the room. But it was close to the window and that was all Phil really needed.

It was also a good spot to see Dan working. Phil really needed to introduce himself properly. Maybe today will be the day, he thought. It was just that Dan was cute, unbearably cute really, and Phil often found himself losing track of his words around him. Because on rainy days, Dan's hair was curly and soft. When he handed Phil his drink, Dan always offered a dimpled smile and as he moved away Phil was sure the smell of rain followed him.

"Here you go," Dan interrupted Phil out of his daydream as he placed a coffee down on the table. "How is it today Rain Boy?" Dan gestured towards the window.

"Good," Phil managed to say, any thoughts of proper introduction thrown out the window. Dan always called him Rain Boy and it made him melt a little inside any time the blue colour words dripped off the other man's tongue. "It's a good storm today."

"Good," Dan nodded, as if he had been waiting for Phil's confirmation that it was indeed a good rain. "Enjoy your coffee."

So Phil sat, drinking his coffee and staring at the storm. He stared and thought. And after a while he began to write. They were words quickly scrawled on a piece of paper before he ripped it messily out of his note book. The page was wrinkled with the water that had run through each sheet of paper in the past. The rip was messy. And Phil was incredibly unsure.

But before he could change his mind, he got up and left the table. He left the paper there too. Next to the empty coffee cup. And once he was outside he fought the urge to run back inside and grab it before it was seen.

My name's Phil actually, not Rain Boy (though I like your nickname much better). Maybe next rain I could show you something? The crumpled up napkin read when Dan found it only a few minutes later. The words followed by a phone number. So both men began to look forward to the next rain.