hanakotobawakodoku:

Send me a song and I’ll write a drabble around it. 
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The stench of wet earth marked yet another rainy day. Eric wasn’t fazed much by the downpour; if anything it reminded him of home. Most days in Scotland had been dreary and grey, even when shuddering puddles hadn’t yet nestled into the crevices of the road. There was a comfort he found in the gentle caress of chilly droplets against his pounding head. 

“Alan…” He pleaded, voice sounding foreign. “I can’ talk about this." Eric was taking steps back from the smaller reaper, doing his best to avoid eye contact. "We can’." 

"Why not!” Alan looked smaller than he already was, standing there with his clothes soaked and weighed down heavily against his slender shoulders. His eyes were red from crying. “Eric, I’ve been patient with you. I’m really trying to understand! But every time I get close to you, just when I think I do—” He reached out with a trembling hand and Eric shrunk back from him. 

“It’s no’ like tha’!" 

"Then tell me what it’s like! Don’t shut me out!” Bold with frustration, Alan grabbed his hand. Eric knew this soft hand better than he knew his own. He knew the soft fingertips that now quivered with emotion. He knew the warm, comforting grip that was now frigid and desperate.”You’re my friend. My gardener.” He whispered softly. “And I hope more than that. I think you do, too.” 

Those words elicited a sharp pang of fear — like thorns — in Eric’s chest.”I-I…” He didn’t let go of Alan’s hand. But he couldn’t, he just couldn’t bring himself to answer. Even look at him. 

Just as soon as the younger man had taken his hand, he was pulling away. “I’m sorry.” He murmured. Eric could tell by cold tone, by the break of his voice, that he was crying. “I shouldn’t push you.” 

"I can’, Alan. I jus’ can’.” 

"I understand.” He replied a bit sharply, and turned on his heel. Eric watched him go until there was nothing left to see, knees weak and heart sinking to his stomach. 

Raindrops were the perfect disguise for his tears.