Word Count: 850 

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The moral of this story is to not trust the weather report.

Okay, maybe not completely, but still, the weather is really to blame for whatever this is.

You stand in front of a picturesque landscape that you’ve wanted to paint for so long - ever since you’ve came to this cottage as a little kid. Now that you’re finally ready to sit down and get some work done, bam!

It’s raining.

Not just “oh, look at me, I’m here to cool your hot August day down and I’ll be gone in a couple of minutes” rain, but HARDCORE, POURING BUCKETS, RAINING CATS and DOGS type of rain. It’s coming down in sheets, and you know that in a minute, you and your art supplies will be soaked to the bone. Curse this weather. Curse the weather report.

You look around desperately for a place to duck into for some kind of shelter, but the field is vacant of any plants other than grass, which stretches on forever until it meets the mountains, which in turn extend into what seems like infinity until it meets the sky, which was usually a glorious blue. 

But it still was raining.

You pack your supplies as fast as you can into a plastic box that you had the sense to carry with you (thank goodness), brushing your wet hair out of your face as you worked. You look up to check the sky, begging it to show some signs of clearing up.

And then a huge red thing obscures your vision completely.

You muffle a scream, spin around and somehow lose your balance (being disoriented by that bright red - whatever it was - probably had something to do with it). Closing your eyes, you brace yourself for the muddy fall, but it never comes. Hesitantly, you open them to find a gorgeous boy with wind-ruffled hair and a tight-fitting shirt (ohmygod, those muscles) smiling down at you.

You forget your name for all of 2 seconds, and then the words come spewing out.
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to fall on you, it was just… I saw something… the field is slippery…” you sputter, face hot as the gears in your brain whirled around, trying to find something coherent to say.

The boy smiles brilliantly as he lowers you onto your feet, showing gorgeous white teeth and you’re momentarily distracted again.
“It’s fine, but let me help you tie your shoe. I can’t have you fall for anyone else.”
It takes you a moment to register that, and then your face flushes brighter. 

Instead of trying to apologize again (because goddamn it, the words don’t flow like how you want them to), you settle on thanking him. 
“Th-thank you for catching me…” you whisper, and then slapped yourself mentally because why, oh why did you stutter.
You open your mouth to speak again, but he cuts your sentence off smoothly. “That’s no problem, sweetheart. Before you ask, the name’s Park Jimin. So do you have a name or can I call you mine?”

Goddamn this boy and his pickup lines.

You press your hands to your cheeks in a vain attempt to cool them down, and whisper your name quietly under your breath. He smiles. “That’s a pretty name, but I’d much rather call you baby.”

Seriously, GODDAMN IT.
—
When the rain showed no sign of stopping, you ended agreeing to go to Jimin’s house, situated several roads away from the field. The entire journey there was marked by pickup lines, each one getting cheesier as you progressed.

“Your hand looks heavy. Shall I hold it for you?”

“Do you believe in love at first sight, or should I walk by again?”

“I think there’s something wrong with my eyes because I can’t take them off you.”

When you finally arrived and Jimin flounced to the kitchen to “get some food for you, baby”, you finally had a chance to sit down and will away the blush that had felt like it had been permanently attached to your face. As the aroma of pizza wafted out of the kitchen, you plucked up your courage and decided to try something.

He returned soon enough, one hand holding the pizza and the other holding plates, winking at you (cue the blush again) and served you a piece.
“How is it, baby?” he asked, grinning at you.

“Oh, I think you just stole a pizza my heart, “ you say, blushing profoundly (you hadn’t had much practice with pick up lines) but Jimin stares at you, a genuine smile blossoming across his face.

“Hey girl, on a scale from 1 to America, how free are you tonight, cuz I wanna take you out to dinner!” he smiles. “Really. How about it?”

Blushing again (that seemed like your only reaction to things now) you smile at him.
“That’d be great. When?”
“At 6 o’clock. Wear something pretty, cuz I’ll be wearing your smile that you gave me!”

You could only laugh as he pulled a face at you. Maybe rainy days weren’t that bad after all.