Renaissance

I

Hephaestion's P.O.V

I tightened my hood around my face, muffling the soft shuffle of my converse on the wet concrete.  My blond hair sticks to my forehead as the rain continues to pour from chalkboard grey clouds and, somewhere, lightning strikes and thunder rolls like the percussion section of a marching band.

Of course, being me and being extremely clumsy, I tend to trip a lot. My arms pinwheel through the air as I pitch forward, catching myself midstep. Thank my everloving stars I haven't mashed my face into the concrete. Seventeen years into my life and I haven't died yet! I'd like to see how close I can get to dying without actually doing so. Might be fun, right?

I shove my hands into the front pocket of my hoodie, wishing I hadn't left my earbuds at the library. If I turn back now it would already have closed and I'd feel even more dumb than I do now. Another pair of headphones, lost! I can't afford my forgetfulness. That would be the third pair lost this month and buying cheap earbuds at Hot Topic for $6.50 really adds up. What's a guy to do on minimum wage?

I hear something behind me, causing me to stop and look back. But there's nothing on the sidewalk and the streets are empty this late at night. Maybe it's just the rain getting to me, but a needling feeling at the back of my mind tells me it's not. I walk faster, the soles of my shoes making awkward sucking noises on the layer of water coating the sidewalk.

Having to walk home in the rain is, hopefully, something I will never have to do again for a billion years. When you work a twelve hour day and spend the rest of your night researching renaissance artists and paintings, it really–and I mean, really–takes it out of you.

I skulk through the rain like a soggy puppy called in from playing in mud. Less mud, actually, and definitely lacking the enthusiasm a puppy might have. I sigh softly and try to avoid all the worms pooling up on the sidewalk. I hate stepping on them, they're so squiggly.

The metal steps up to my second story apartment are slick, nearly causing me to do the splits as I hurry up them. Much to my amazement, I don't rip any muscles or tendons, or break any bones going up the rest of the stairs. My keys slide around in my wet fingers as I fumble to unlock the front door. I can't believe how much I drop my keys. They hit the weird carpeted area outside my door not once, not twice, but three times; each time making a noise that made me wince and fear for my life.

The rain can't reach me but now that I'm not in it, wet clothes have me shivering in my Adventure Time socks.

I could feel the cold night rain seep into my shoulders and shoes. It rolled down over my cheeks in fat drops, my tongue darting out of the corner of my mouth to catch one.

I just about got the door unlocked when a metal 'clang' startles me. I jump, slapping my keys to my chest and, I don't know why, but I shove my keys back into my pockets and step cautiously back down the stairs. I look down the street, squinting through the inky night to train on a still rocking trash can in the street.

I walk over to it like an idiot, brandishing my keys in my hand as a weapon. But it seems to just be an ordinary trash can. I chuckled to myself, wiping water off my nose as I tip the trash can upright. The smell that sucker punches me right in the nose hole sends me reeling back, and the sleeve of my hoodie is folded over my hand in preparation to return the trash can to the alley from whence it came. It's so bad, I can't tell if my eyes are watering or if that's rain.

I lift the can and take it back to the ally from where it seemed to have came from. If I didn't know any better, I would have assumed it came from Jabba the Hutt himself. I dunno, he probably smells how he looks.