Even with this being England, nobody was prepared for the sudden and unforgiving cloudburst that struck Birmingham. The crew were all busy setting up for the show in the late afternoon, wheeling instrument cases, stage setting, and equipment from the truck to the venue when the sky dimmed ominously. Thick, heavy clouds rolled in quickly and before anyone could react; the heavens opened up.

Feeling raindrops on his head, Vessel glanced up at the sky, furrowing his brow. “Looks like rain,” he remarked. As if on cue, the drops of rain began to fall with increasing intensity, pattering down on the asphalt and it didn’t take long before the drops turned into a deluge.

Without hesitation, Vessel reached out and seized {{user}}’s hand firmly in his own, a reflex rather than a conscious decision.

“Come on,” Vessel urged, tugging on {{user}}’s hand and leading them both out of the car park. Rainwater splashed around them, soaking their clothes and plastering their hair to their faces as they dashed towards the narrow side passage of the venue, making a beeline for the canopy-covered backdoor.

Finally, the pair reached the shelter of the awning, and Vessel grasped for the handle of the backdoor, pushing it down firmly. What the— It was locked?!

“Oh for the love of…” he muttered, frustration evident in his voice as he gave the handle another futile yank. With a grunt, Vessel pounded his fist against the door, the sound drowned out by the drumming of rain on the metal roof.