Some days, Jack and Brooklyn would sneak out of the house through the back door, and play under the rain.
Of course, they know that Mrs. Wyatt will shout at them in rage later on, but they still do it anyway.
Maybe because the fun they have under the rain---makes it really worth it.
The rain was pouring heavily, and two children ran around the backyard, chasing one another.
When all of a sudden, Jack tripped on a puddle and got mud sticking all over him---his clothes, his arms, his legs, even his face.
Brooklyn paused himself from running, and quickly skipped over to his friend asking, "Are you alright, Jonky?" with a worried face.
Jack nodded his head, fondly smiling as he heard a new nickname. The Irish lad looked away, a seemingly mischievous light bulb chiming inside his head.
The tall boy, then, started stomping around his feet mercilessly, splashing wet patches against his playmate who laughed hard with surprised glee.
"Jack! Mom's going to kill me for this," Brooklyn giggled, pertaining to his now very, very, dirty white shirt which was now littered with speckles of mud and filth.
Jack could already imagine Mrs. Wyatt looming over them with a disappointed face, and could almost hear her continuous ranting.
"She's going to anyway, the moment you decided to play under the rain with me," Jack said with a cheeky grin and the smaller brunette shrugged with a smile.
"Better make the most of it," the taller curly-headed boy snickered, splashing his friend with another incoming tide of puddle.
They were very right, of course.
It only took six minutes before Brooklyn's mother found out that they played under the rain.
She was very mad, and it felt like forever to Jack when she gave out her lecture.
She wasn't mad for long though, since Brooklyn caught the cold.
Brooklyn was laying still on the bed, very sick and red, looking paler and smaller than ever.
Guilt was chewing Jack, minutes after minutes, because it was his idea to play under the rain, but the older brunette repeatedly tried to assured him that it wasn't his fault.
"It's my immune system at fault, really," Brooklyn joked, but the Irish boy didn't laugh because one: he wasn't sure what an 'immune system' is, he wasn't as smart as Brooklyn, and two: Brooklyn is still sick.
With that thought, the Irish curly head remained at Brooklyn's bedside, until the boy fully recovered---which was a half a day later, and then everything is back like it was before.
~
a quick update for you guys😌💕💕
hope you like it! i am dropping this off because i am gonna be babysitting all day so i might have no time later so here you go 😂💕
thoughts so far?
also, we are halfway done with this short story hahaha things will heat up as soon as you know it😈😌😏💕
that's all i'm gonna say for now hahhaha
have a lovely day! 💕💕
(SubtleJacklyn/Trixia)
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Fanfiction"Hey, Jack!" In all honesty, there was nothing truly remarkable at that time. It was just an ordinary day, right at that point where morning comes to an end to greet a hot afternoon, and Jack was just lying on the porch, idly looking over the passin...
