Take A Walk With Me (One-Shots and More)

Rainstorms (Merome)

I kind of have an obsession with this ship...

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It was just an innocent run to the store.

The Mini Mart, roughly ten blocks down, sold all the classic gas station junk, from doughnuts to beer. Mitch had dragged Jerome along with him, to pick up a couple snacks for the livestream they'd been setting up. He'd insisted they walk, because they were both in good shape, and it wasn't that far away. Jerome eventually wore down, and agreed.

They'd already paid, and Jerome had the plastic bag looped around his wrist. Mitch had his hoodie on, because it was a cold day.

For Florida, at least.

The storm hit without warning. As they left, the sky was mostly clear, but by the time they were halfway home, the sky was dumping water on them, driving rain into their backs.

Jerome had no jacket, and Mitch was too stubborn to give up his own.

But the American just sighed and kept on, handing over the groceries to Mitch, who tucked them under his hoodie.

They couldn't really talk, as the wind was much too loud, but they needed no words when Jerome grabbed Mitch's hand and started to sprint.

Stumbling at first, Mitch rushed to catch up with him, tripping over his own feet twice. The rain made the pavement slick, and because it was so heavy, neither boy could see more than five feet in front of them.

"Come on, Mitch!"

He tried to push himself faster, but ended up on the ground without realizing what happened. Jerome stopped and waited as Mitch slowly picked himself up, his palms bleeding.

"You okay?"

Jerome had to yell to be heard over the wind.

"Fine," Mitch muttered, but his words were whisked away by the wind. Instead, he just nodded, and started to run again. The plastic bag was passed over to Jerome, who grabbed his keys before taking it.

They eventually reached the house, and Jerome made sure to lock the door behind them. He set the groceries on the table and sat Mitch down on the couch, kneeling in front of him.

"Oh my God, yes!" Mitch joked, and Jerome glared up at him, taking one of his hands. Shards of rock were dug into the skin.

"Doesn't that hurt?"

"Like hell."

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Jerome took Mitch to a doctor the next day, despite the older boy's protests. The swelling and redness was not going away, and, even though Mitch said it was fine, Jerome refused to believe him.

In the end, the doctor just prescribed an antibiotic, and Mitch kept it hung over Jerome's head.

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"It's been three weeks, now, Mitch, and--"

"It's fine, Jerome!"

"Look! It's spread up your arms. That's not normal."

Mitch sighed, yanking away from Jerome.

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He ended up going to the doctor by himself, behind Jerome's back. As always, he didn't want to admit defeat, but the red marks on his arms were starting to worry him.

Doctor Riche ended up having Mitch go through a series of blood draws, and as of now, the Canadian boy was resting in the waiting room.

"Mitch Hughes?"

He stood up and walked over. The nurse had a sad expression on her face as she led him into the lab. Riche was seated across from Mitch, and he slowly looked up.

"The results aren't good. You've been diagnosed with a fatal case of blood poisoning."

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Honestly, this was supposed to turn out happy and cute, but imagination says no.

Also, I'm not exaggerating Florida storms. They come out of nowhere. Like, how?! Why do you do this to me, Mother Nature?

Anyways, see ya next chapter?

Baiii