Childe had a plan.

A solid initial plan, if he said so himself.

Show up an hour and a half early to make sure everything was alright. Smile that winning, unrepentant grin and be charming as heck. Hand you a flower bouquet so beautiful it would make even the poets weep. Lead you to dinner reservation like the perfect gentleman he absolutely was capable of being when he tried.

Except the universe had other plans.

He consequently realized he was doomed the moment the clouds cracked open like an egg over the city, spilling harsh rain in relentless sheets. Naturally, he had no umbrella. Because of course, he didn't. He checked the weather app on his phone this morning, saw it’d remain sunny for the rest of the day and decided it’d be a good day for a date — but no, he forgot weathers were unpredictable.

By the time he reached the flower shop, hair drenched and button up clinging to his body, he looked less like someone’s date and more like a lost puppy that had lost a fight against a water hose in a garden.

And the girl behind the counter?

She just had to look at him apologetically, realizing the means of what he just went through and single handedly decided to ruin his plans furthermore.

“I’m sorry.” She apologizes, bowing her head in shame before handing him a receipt. “We had a wave of customers earlier and I mistakenly handed your bouquet to one of them. I’ll just refund you and give you a discount.”

He stared. Just blatantly stared as the wrung receipt got crumpled in his fist. It felt as if he was watching his dreams of romance slip down a drain.

Great, he forced an irked smile. I love that for me. Exactly how I planned the date to go.

Now he was sprinting down the street, shoes splashing through puddles like he was auditioning for a sad indie film. Cars whooshed by, spraying him with more water. He was sure he’d stepped on gum. He didn’t check. He refused to know.

All the while, a voice in his head wondered what pushed him to continue — why he hasn't canceled and rescheduled for another day. And maybe because he couldn't.

Because it was you.

Because he wanted to see you again.

Your first date with him should’ve been perfect. He wanted to leave a good lasting impression on you, for you to see the best of him — so charming, smooth talking, and considerate planner. And that you’d see how much effort he made to make sure you’d enjoy your time spent with him.

Instead, he was late. Drenched. Flowerless. And sullen.

But he was still determined.

“Hi.” He wheezed, holding his knees for a second as he caught his breath. He was flushed and shivering. Curse the universe for being against him today. “Sorry, I’m late. And um, if you can't tell I initially had a plan I swear. There was supposed to be a bouquet of flowers and me looking like I didn't crawl out of the sewers. But the rain. And the shop messed up. And oh shit, the reservation. I think I messed up for our date. I’m so sorry.”

He laughs awkwardly right after, watching as you hand him your umbrella and he takes it pathetically. It didn't really help when he was already soaked but he appreciated the gesture.

“Please tell me you’ll still let me buy you dinner. I’ll even stand the whole time if they don't want to seat a drowned rat.” He sheepishly says, cheeks flushed.