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‘Let’s go for a walk!’ he said.
‘It will be fun!’ he said.
Yeah, well ‘he’ really should have looked at the weather forecast before suggesting the idea. In his defense, it really did seem like the nice weather was going to hold out- it had been a relatively sunny day throughout most of the afternoon. There had been a few, passing clouds and the temperature had dropped a good 10 degrees or so from last week, but it really seemed like the perfect day for a walk.
But now that your favorite Ghostbusters t-shirt is soaking wet, you can just barely through your foggy glasses, and your hair is clinging to your face in the most uncomfortable way possible, you wish with all your might that Dave would’ve bothered to even glance at that stupid, $4 weather app he installed on his phone. (The stupid thing tells him everything from the dew point to the visibility to the wave height at the nearest beach. It has a barometer. He can change the app’s color scheme. It’s a waste of $4. He insisted it would be worth every cent.
It wasn’t.)
“How much longer?” you whine, trying to determine if the upcoming park is near your apartment or not. You clutch at your elbows as you walk in an attempt to keep yourself from losing every degree of what remains of your body temperature. You glare at your stupid boyfriend from the corner of your eye.
He doesn’t look at your face, let alone your eyes. “Um, probably half a mile? So less than 15 minutes.” He just keeps on staring straight ahead, refusing to look at you. Because there is no way Dave Strider is going to admit to making a huge mistake like this.
You huff. “Well, at least we’re closer now than we were.” You’ve already walked about a mile and a half in the pouring rain, another 10 minutes of trudging along can’t possibly hurt. But still, it sucks. Your feet hurt, you’re cold, and your socks are soaked- and that is probably the worst feeling you can possibly think of. Even worse than when Dave licks your ear (which is probably the #1 way to kill your boner, and yet he does it anyway).
“I hate you, by the way,” you add when he doesn’t respond.
He snorts and finally glances at you. “No you don’t. You’re just pissed we got caught in a little rain. You love me and you know it.”
“Oh no,” you retort. “I really mean it this time! I’m moving out. Packing my things and going to my dad’s house.” You sniff loudly and pretentiously, sticking your nose up in the air. You’re not really mad. A little annoyed, yes. Dave knows this as well as you do.
Dave plays along, sliding an arm around your waist, which you push away in mock anger. “Baby, don’t be like that,” he coos, leaning in to kiss at your cheek.
You stop walking at the last moment and move your head back far enough where he misses.
He freezes and looks back at you. For a moment, you think that he might actually be upset, but then you notice the corner of his mouth twitch up. Before he can move, you break into a sprint, heading towards the park. You know there’s absolutely no chance you will ever outrun a Strider, but you aren’t going to give up the chance to try.
You can hear his footsteps behind you, accompanied by a “You’re not gonna get out of this that easy, John!”.
In an attempt to lose him, you run off the sidewalk and onto the wet grass. Laughing, you turn to look at him and return his comment with something snarky and sarcastic, but in the short second it takes you to turn your head, he’s gone. Before you even have time to process your confusion, you slam into him.
He may be fast enough to cross a room in .5 seconds, but he’s not fast enough to catch you before you fall backwards.
Figures.
You glare up at him, and he makes it painfully obvious he’s holding back a laugh. “Oh, I am definitely moving out now.” You bring your hands up to look at them- covered in mud, as you expected. Your back and ass probably look the same, if not worse. “Flashstepping is totally cheating, jackass!”
“Is not,” he protests, offering you a hand. You grip his palm tightly and pull him down next to you and into the mud. He crash-lands with a surprised yell.
Revenge is sweet.
Before he can tell you off, you move to tackle him in an attempt to get him even muddier than you are. He wrestles you to the ground, and almost has you pinned for a good couple of seconds, but years of swinging hammers have left you with nothing if not great upper-body strength. You turn the tables and manage to flip your positions so that he’s the one laying in the mud- you’re sitting on his chest, and you have his wrists pinned by your hands.
He doesn’t even really try to struggle any further. Instead, he tries to be even more obnoxious than he already is, leaning up as far as he can with his lips pursed in an attempt to kiss you and flip the situation.
You pull back just enough so that he can’t. “Oh no you don’t!”
“Come on, John,” he complains, letting his head rest back down on the ground. “Don’t be a jerk. Kissing in the rain is romantic or something, isn’t it?”
You roll your eyes. “I’ll make you a deal. How about that?”
He considers it for a moment, his tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek as he thinks. “Fine,” he says finally, looking at you expectantly.
“You make the hot chocolate when we get home.”
As best as he can, Dave shrugs. “Alright, I can do that.”
“And!” you interject. “I get first shower.”
That term doesn’t seem to go over as well as the first one did. “What? Are you kidding me? Dude, you literally have me laying in the mud right now and you’re the one who gets first shower? Bullshit.”
“Those are my conditions!”
He huffs with obvious displeasure. His face lights up a second later, however, with a ‘brilliant’ idea. “We could always take a shower together, y’know.” The idiot waggles his eyebrows as he speaks.
“No,” you say, unimpressed. “Last time we tried that, you almost broke your arm!” That memory is literally so awful, it doesn’t even deserve a flashback. Sexy tried to happen. Sexy failed. Dave was taken to the emergency room. Enough said.
Unfortunately for him, Dave knows you’re right. He lets out a frustrated sigh and mumbles out a “Fine, you get first shower.”
Proud of your accomplished negotiations, you grin and lean in for that kiss Dave seems to so desperately want. Even though it’s the most awful thing you’ve ever done, and totally not romantic at all. It’s wet, and his lips are cold and clammy. You would rather let him lick your ear tonight than try for a romantic make out session in the mud again.