You swore, every single time you went to visit your friend Arthur, it was always raining.
As you open your car door, you open the umbrella and rush out to get onto the sidewalk. You hurry up to his house to get underneath the awning to get out of the rain.
You ring the doorbell once and close the parasol, and soon after, you are greeted with a familiar green-eyed, blond haired Brit. You stood about a couple inches short of his height of five feet, around eight inches.
"(Name), come in." He said as he moved aside. You hung your coat on the coat rack and took off your shoes as he went to sit down in the living room.
"Would you care for a cup of tea?" You hear him question as you walk in after him.
"That would be great." You respond with a small smile, looking over at him.
He pours a cup, and hands it over to you.
"Thanks." You reply, taking a tentative sip of the toasty beverage. It definitely warmed you up after being out in the cold.
He sort of watched you for a second. For some reason, he was thinking that somehow, even though your hair was almost soaking wet, and the same case for your clothes, you were still attractive to him. It seemed there was always a certain light in your eyes.
"You're welcome." He responded, his facial expression not changing. It was not surprising to you. It was rare where you actually saw the Brit give a hint of a smile. You look over at him from your chair. He looked prim and proper as always...well, most of the time anyway in a white dress shirt, black slacks, and black shoes. "Are you hungry?"
While you trusted the Brit with many things, cooking...well, that was sketchy. But you weren't about to be rude and say 'No' to his offer.
"Yes, actually."
He nods, setting down his cup and heading out of the room and into the kitchen.
Oh, what did I get into? You ask yourself. You had heard the horror stories from other countries.
You were hoping for your sake, they were exaggerating.
After a while, you wonder what had been taking so long, and that was when you hear a loud boom in the kitchen and a "Bloody Hell". You rush in, finding the blond haired man and the kitchen practically covered in some...sort of substance, you weren't even sure what it was.
You could tell he was a little frustrated and maybe even embarrassed about the incident that you don't say a word as you take the apron he was wearing and say, "Go get cleaned up, I'll take care of this."
You saw in his eyes that he was about to angrily object so you give him a look which makes him reconsider.
Eventually, you manage to clean the entire kitchen when Arthur came out of his bedroom. You glance at him when he enters the kitchen.
"You really didn't have to do that, (Name). I would have taken care of it." He stated.
"Well, I...I wanted to, I guess."
He arched a bushy eyebrow, giving you a look that asked, Why on earth would you want to do something like this?
"I mean, well...never mind." You dismissed your explanation, heading back into the living room. He follows you in.
"Oh, no, love. Now I want to know your reason."
You purse your lips slightly before admitting, "All right. My reason is...that I'd do just about anything for you."
He seemed almost shocked by this. It was the reaction you expected from him.
"I, uh, I should go." You say, standing up out of the chair and starting to gather your things.
You don't even notice when he walks over until he gently stops you by touching your arm.
You couldn't even think when he cups your face in his hands, leans down and presses his lips to yours. You are so surprised, that you almost don't react. You find yourself wrapping your arms around his neck and moving closer to him. It was amazing how he could be tender, but passionate at the same time. He could still smell the rain in your hair along with your perfume as you bridge the gap between you two.
After a moment, he pulls away, looking into your expressive eyes, and brushing a strand of hair from your face. You almost see regret in his eyes though. "I shouldn't have..." He starts but before he could finish, you bring him in again for another kiss.
