there are only a few people with the tendency to be outright nasty like that

Since we’re all rolling around in Pike feels this week, I figured I’d go ahead and add something to the mix.


It’s raining, which seems fitting. And not a light drizzle, either–not the kind where the sky is silver and the droplets are dancing and kids splash through puddles and lovers share kisses under umbrellas and old men sit in armchairs by windows with mugs of tea and good books. It’s the hard kind of rain, where the sky is angry and black and the drops are slamming into the earth like they want to destroy it and kids sit inside sulking and lovers are going out of their minds worrying about each other and old men are alone for the first time in almost thirty years.

Leonard’s a doctor, dammit, he should know better, but he’s walking down the streets of San Francisco with his head bowed against the rain and his shoulders hunched, hands jammed in the pockets. No hat, no umbrella, no jacket; the somber grey dress uniform doesn’t do much to keep him warm and he feels soaked to the skin, like he’ll never get warm again. And he doesn’t care.

He shouldn’t have been there.

And if he had to be there, he shouldn’t have been alone.

“You tryin’ to catch pneumonia, boy?”

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