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We always meet in the rain.
I don't know if it's fate or a trick of the universe or something else entirely, but something always draws me back to him, like the tug of the clouds in the sky. We weren't made for clear weather. We weren't made from flimsy things, gossamer or silk or spun glass.
We were made for thunder and pouring rain and a wicked wind that tears at your cheeks. We were built to withstand the storm.
---
The first time I saw him was when I was still on the front. The rain was coming down in sheets, blocking my vision, covering the muddy ground in a layer of water that tugged at my boots as I ran.
The gunfire was louder than ever, ringing in my ears, bouncing off the mist like a lingering phantom. This was the kind of weather that we lost good men in, the kind of weather that sent fearful letters home and made even the most stoic of soldiers send up a prayer.
I couldn't feel my feet. I was stumbling, gun clutched in shaking hands, breath coming in ragged pants. One more step and then a searing pain, ripping through me and taking my legs out from beneath me.
As I lay there, certain that Death was coming for me with its cold fingers and ebony robe, I saw a face. Eyes like the Mediterranean sky, blue as summer, a promise of adventure.
I remember thinking that he didn't appear as I had expected, that I had thought that an angel would look a little less... human. I reached out, grasping for his hand, but at a swipe of my careless fingers the image swirled back into the fog, lost to the endless darkness.
When I awoke, I was no longer Lieutenant Havers, proud soldier. I was just another body, a man with a limp and a hyperactive mind that wouldn't let me rest.
---
He found me once more at a bus stop in central London. I was checking the map, trying to swipe away some of the layer of graffiti that coated the plastic. "Damn it."
The rain was coming down harder. I shuddered. Weather like this always reminded me of the day I got injured, of the mobility I would never regain. I stretched my stiff leg, the cold making it tense up, trying not to wince at the sudden ache.
A throat cleared opposite me, rising above the patter of water on the roof. "Can I help you?"
I leaned forwards, glancing out at the road for any sign of the bus. It was no use. The road was completely obscured by the veil of rain. "Just trying to find -"
My words died in my throat as I glanced towards the man next to me. I knew those eyes. He looked a little different, a few years older than me, silver hair damp, but I could never forget. A promise, a brush of lips in the darkness, callused hands on mine.
He blinked at me, tilting his head to one side as he pulled his thick jacket a little tighter around himself. "Do I know you?"
I shook my head, trying to dispell the cobwebs that had fallen over my mind. It was just the rain, making me imagine things. We had never met before, of coure we hadn't, but he just seemed so familiar.
"No - no, you don't. Sorry, I was just distracted."
He looked like he was going to say more, but the bus rattled around the corner, a blur of red, headlights cutting through the mist. I took one last glance back as I stepped aboard, trying to catch a glimpse of whatever it was that I had seen.
All I could see was a smudge of green wool and blue eyes that burned their way into my head, flashing across my vision every time I blinked.
---
My job at the British Museum was fairly simple. I looked after the exhibits, I gave talks to the curious public, and I tried not to look too bored when my supervisor asked me to stay late to complete extra paperwork. It was easy and non-threatening and the exact opposite of the army. In other words, precisely what I was looking for.
The thunder clouds grew closer, rumbling dully overhead. My leg throbbed as I made my way towards the exit, running a hand through my hair. It had been a long day. Memories kept stirring in the murky pool of my mind, things I had long since forgotten, traces of a past that I didn't fully understand.
"Excuse me?"
It was him again, of course. There was nobody else it could have been. He was the sea to my shore, the windswept sky to my clouds. He moved like an army man, regimented, the way I had walked before the injury.
"Hello. I was just wondering, have we met?"
Those damn eyes, always drawing me in, like a ship tossed in a whirlpool. "Bus stop. Central London. I was trying to read a map. Failing miserably, of course."
He chuckled, the sound like a ray of sunlight breaking through the grey. I decided then that I would do anything to hear that sound again. "That's it. Funny coincidence that we've met again here, isn't it? Small world and all that."
He tilted his head at me, the gesture strangely familiar. "But you do seem rather - I'm not sure. I just feel like I know you."
"I get that a lot."
"Really?"
I laughed, the sound strange in my chest. "You would be surprised." He smiled, ever so slightly, a power chord in my heart.
"Lieutenant William Havers."
He shook my hand, and -
Calluses on skin and warmth and crisp bedsheets. The smell of ink and oil and gunpowder. Starched uniforms, but not the one I'm used to, a face that I know like my own. The call of a bird, a song from my childhood, a lullaby perhaps.
Sleep that sweeps me away, swift as the tide, ebbing and flowing at the edges of my memory. Tears and farewells.
"I'm afraid I'm leaving you."
Regret, sharp and bitter.
"Captain."
---
"Is it just Captain?"
He leaned back in his seat, posture still ramrod straight, grey hair neatly combed. He closed the book resting on his lap, glancing out of the café window at the soaking street outside.
"That's what people have always called me."
"But you do have a name."
"Perhaps."
I finished my tea, glancing at the cover of the book. "Second World War?"
"I have a particular interest in the period. I do work in the exhibit, after all."
Another glance towards the window, raindrops running fingertips down the foggy glass. He tugged at the neck of his jumper, eyes glittering. "Do you ever feel like you were born at the wrong time?"
I took a moment to respond, breathing in the scent of the café, coffee and sugar and books. "Sometimes."
He picked up the book, tilting it towards him, running a wistful finger along the cover. We had been speaking for a long time, the clock on the wall ticking on endlessly, skies darkening and turning stormy grey.
"I should really be going."
I slid a piece of paper across the table as I stood, my own neat writing spilling across it. "Text me."
He looked doubtful, clutching his coffee cup a little tighter. "I'm really not sure if I can -"
I patted his arm, the movement coming so naturally that it caught me off guard. Blue eyes on brown, dim lighting, the crackle of the fire in the corner. "Just think about it. I'll see you soon, alright?"
I had barely made it back to my dingy flat when my phone buzzed. Suddenly the tiny room seemed slightly warmer, the clouds parting just a little.
Teddy Johnson. Nice to meet you.
---
It's amazing how quickly the months pass when you have something to look forward to. For me, it was Teddy, hidden behind the shells of disused planes, old army uniform immaculate, so truly in his element that it was beautiful to see.
More and more often I found myself just watching him, noticing every little detail, from the way he bounced on the balls of his feet when he was nervous to the light that came into his eyes when he spoke about the things he loved.
Increasingly, I began to wish that I was one of those things.
He seemed like a beautiful creature to me, hair like molten metal, warm hands, perfectly neat moustache. When I was near him I felt content, free of the monsters that shadowed my footsteps. He was my home, my north star, a diamond dug from the coal.
I saw, too, the glimmer of something that flickered in his eyes when he looked at me. He wasn't a natural with technology; he seemed more suited to letters, yellowed paper and libraries and wax seals, but all the same he called me once a week.
Sometimes it was for no reason, sometimes just because he wanted to hear my voice, but I began to suspect that there was something more. The gentle timbre of his voice became the thing I most looked forward to, eyes on the clock, waiting for the inevitable ring of the phone.
---
"Evening, Havers."
He stood by the door, smiling slightly, umbrella in hand. It was pouring down outside, a pounding, insistent rain that reverberated through the halls like a drumbeat.
"Evening, Teddy. And call me William, please."
He stayed there for a long moment, expression unusually open. "Well, William. I - there's something I've been wanting to say."
But he didn't need to say it. I saw it there in his eyes, the promise of adventure, the quiet life, the longing and the hopelessness and the fear. Something else, too, something familiar and old and new that I had seen before.
"Teddy."
He turned on his heel, chest heaving. He knew I had seen. I reached out for him, trying to pull him back to me, but he was already out the door, rainwater arcing down on either side of his umbrella.
I just stood there, frozen, a useless statue, until something just - snapped. Not caring about the rain dripping down my neck, or the cold or the butterfly fluttering of my aching heart, I ran into the storm, wind blowing me back, ropes of water lashing my face.
There - a lighthouse on the turbulent sea, a beam of light guiding me home. "Teddy!"
I caught his arm, numb to my very bones, gaze catching his as if in a net. He looked so shocked, like a deer in the headlights, for once laid bare for me to see. I couldn't breathe. I was acting on instinct alone as I pressed my lips to his.
The water was cold and refreshing and I had done this before, been here before, known him before. This was a second chance and a new beginning and my soul held in his hands like a baby bird fallen from its nest.
He pulled back ever so slightly, breathing heavily, eyes glistening with something that wasn't rain. "William. Your leg."
"Damn my leg."
And I pulled him back, closer, fusing into one mind, one heart, shared breath, two trees growing together until they're inseperable.
---
When I open my eyes, I am in the before. Not the bedroom in Teddy's apartment that I have grown so used to, but somewhere else entirely. I know this place like the back of my hand, know without looking which floorboards will creak as I step on them.
I didn't stay here. I left. I know that now, know that with grim certainty, but when I look to my right I see Teddy beside me in the bed, perfect face lit by the morning light.
The house is just waking up. The air is fresh, not the stifling London breeze, but the crisp atmosphere that only the countryside can supply. This feels so right, something I have known, have been. Maybe this time I will stay.
---
"I think I knew you in another life."
Teddy rolled over, heavy arm slung over my chest. "Hm?"
"We've done this before. All of this, except last time it didn't work."
He pulled the sheet up over his shoulder, nuzzling into my shoulder. "It's a little early in the morning for this, my dear."
"You said - that first time we went for coffee together. You feel like you were born in the wrong time."
"Y'know what I know?"
He was stripped of all his usual formality, so gentle and vulnerable in the golden morning light. He kissed me, just a brush of his lips, a promise of something more.
"I know that we are meant to be together. Maybe last time it didn't work, but we were given a second chance. Fate must want us to work out."
I brushed a finger along his hairline, tracing a line of silver like it was the most precious thing in the world. "A second chance. Hm. I promise I'll stay this time."
Teddy pushed himself up, leaning over me. "Marry me."
"What?"
"The universe gave us a second chance. We're allowed to be together now. I want to spent the rest of my life with you. We'll buy a house somewhere, maybe get a dog, be happy. Good lord, William, if I was with you I would gladly live on the streets."
I laughed despite myself. I had never felt so free, so reckless. "Yes. Yes, I'll do it. I'll marry you."
---
"It's raining again."
I wrap an arm around his waist, press a kiss to his neck, little more than a whisper.
"It's fitting. I wouldn't want it any other way."
He brushes off his suit, cleaning away imaginary dust. "Well, husband. What now?"
The sky lightens, clouds splitting apart just for a moment. A rainbow, arcing through the heavens, signalling the end of the downpour. Maybe this is the start of something new, something entirely up to us.
"Now we live. The storm is over. We made it."