It's Always Been You

Pluviophile

Pluviophile - (n) a lover of rain;
someone who finds joy
and peace of mind
during rainy days.

-

As if my emotions weren't already in complete disarray, the universe decided to throw in the ultimate cliché: getting caught in a torrential downpour. It felt almost too poetic, like something out of a movie.

Wes and I had decided to go bowling and grab some fast food instead of holing up in my room, doing absolutely nothing all day. It had seemed like a solid plan-a distraction from everything swirling in my head.

We'd had a great time, eating greasy fries and laughing about who bowled the worst gutter ball (spoiler: it was me).

The bowling alley was buzzing with noise-clattering pins, arcade games chiming in the background, and the low hum of chatter. Wes and I had just finished our first game, and I was pretty sure I'd never bowled worse in my life. Each gutter ball came with a dramatic sigh, and by the end, my score was laughably bad.

Wes, on the other hand, had been annoyingly good, flashing me that cocky grin of his after every strike.

"Okay, okay," I groaned, dropping into the plastic chair by the score screen. "I get it, you're a bowling prodigy."

Wes leaned against the scoring console, crossing his arms and giving me a teasing smirk. "What can I say? It's a gift."

I rolled my eyes, but I couldn't help smiling. "It's probably because your arms are half the length of the bowling lane."

He chuckled, running a hand through his hair. "Or maybe you're just terrible at this. Have you ever considered that?"

"I have considered it. And it's confirmed," I laughed, sticking my tongue out at him. "But in my defence, I haven't bowled since I was like, twelve."

"Excuses, excuses," Wes teased, shaking his head. "Want to go again, or do you need to save face and stop while you're behind?"

I gave him a playful shove. "Let's get some food first. I need to recover from the emotional devastation of losing so badly."

Wes laughed, grabbing his jacket as we made our way to the small concession stand near the arcade. The air was thick with the smell of nachos, pizza, and popcorn-exactly the kind of greasy food I needed to drown my sorrows in.

"Two orders of fries and one large soda?" Wes asked, giving me a knowing look.

I grinned. "You know me too well."

We found a small table in the corner, away from the flashing lights and noise of the arcade. I slumped into my chair, still feeling the sting of defeat but grateful for the distraction. The fries were piping hot, crispy on the outside and salty enough to cure all of life's problems-at least temporarily.

Wes slid into the chair across from me, snatching a fry off my plate with a mischievous grin. "So, what's the game plan for the next round? Are you going to step it up, or am I going to have to carry the team again?"

I narrowed my eyes, swatting his hand away as he went for another fry. "First of all, these are my fries, you fry thief. And second, I don't need a game plan because I'm just going to let you win gracefully."

He smirked, leaning back in his chair. "Sure, you are. You're totally not going to plot a revenge strategy in your head right now."

I laughed, shaking my head. "Honestly, I'm just here for the fries at this point. Bowling is secondary."