It had been hours since Ryan Ross began staring down the mustard-yellow walls of his living room, and since then he hadn’t stirred from his position but once to take a sip from his mug—only to realise in quiet disdain that his chai tea had already gone cold.
It was drizzling lightly and he was lazily lounging on the couch, wearing an embarrassingly fluffy blue jumper and sweatpants, having a nice warm (well, not so nice and warm now) drink, and hearing nothing but the comforting sounds of rain falling from the gloomy sky and gently kissing the rooftop and windows.
It was the perfect sweater weather, the one Ryan adored and wrote about more than any other season, more than he ever even cared to admit…but now, it just didn’t feel right. He didn’t really know why, exactly, but something felt anxiously off somehow.
Just what is it about today?
On most times like these, he would already be full-on dramatic poet mode, with his intent musings flowing past his relaxed mind and onto his chewed-up pen like…filthy drainpipe water flowing onto the open sewers? Seriously, out of all the beautiful ways to have possibly worded it, that’s the best metaphor he could come up with? Disgusting.
Ryan sighed, running a hand through his messy auburn hair in frustration. The situation was getting more dire by the minute, and nothing else he seemed to try was working.
Mental block is a bitch.
Maybe he was just forcing it too much. Maybe he’d been cooped up inside his suffocating house for too long. Maybe he needed to take a break.
He snorted derisively at the last thought. He definitely needed to take a break.
“George Ryan Ross III, you need to get the hell out of this damning place and pull yourself together!” He proclaimed to himself, his soft voice echoing throughout the empty rooms of his house.
Filled with a new fervour, Ryan resolutely headed to the door, but not before making sure to grab a heavy parka from his closet and a badly-bent umbrella leaning by his shoe rack. As soon as he stepped outside, the scene that greeted Ryan completely took his breath away.
It was a whole lot prettier than he imagined.
Careful not to trample on the newly-blossoming flowers, Ryan giddily spun and traipsed about for a bit before finally standing still in the middle of his front yard. He then breathed in deeply, taking in the fresh scent of lemongrass and rainwater painting the air in that sluggish April afternoon.
The initial rush of wind that blew by was rather strong, rustling the tree branches madly and making him lose his umbrella. The latter was sent careening out of his grasp and ended up tumbling away onto the puddle-soaked street, creating an awful screech as it went along, metal scraping against pavement until the abrasive sound slowly faded away into nothing.
But surprisingly, Ryan found that he didn’t mind it at all. The umbrella’s already old and half-broken, anyway. And the weather never gave a damn about me.
Hey, that kind of sounds like a good line…ladies and gentlemen, we finally have a breakthrough! A voice at the back of Ryan’s head announced victoriously. It was such a silly thought…but suddenly, he didn’t feel so exhausted anymore.
And for the very first time that day, Ryan smiled.
Ryan stayed out in the rain for a rather long time, shivering madly and humming melodies to himself until he was numb from the cold and drenched to the bone. He laughed until he cried, he cried until he laughed; until the tears were indistinguishable from the cloudburst, until the childish laughter was intertwined with the sweet reveries of spring.
And there he stayed, until the rainfall finally ceased and the drowsy sun slowly sank under the scarlet horizon; still cheering and singing along to the march of the clouds.