Rody jolted awake to the sound of rain pattering against his window, his eyes snapping open in a flash of panic. For a moment, he wasn't sure if the noise was part of a dream or real, but then the steady rhythm of water dripping into the leaky bucket in the corner confirmed it. He squinted at the clock on his nightstand, the blurry red numbers swimming into focus.

Crap! He had overslept. It was only his second day at work too! He couldn't afford to mess up, especially not so early on.

"Oh no, no, no, no," he muttered frantically, voice cracking under the weight of panic. Throwing off the thin blanket that had tangled around his legs during the night, he lurched upright from the couch he called a bed. His body still ached from the stiff cushions, but there was no time to think about it. Scrambling across the floor, he stumbled over empty food wrappers and scattered laundry that littered the cramped apartment, cursing under his breath when he banged his shin against the coffee table.

His fingers fumbled as he struggled with the buttons of his uniform, the fabric sticking stubbornly to his damp skin, already slick with nervous sweat. Each button felt like it took a year to push through its hole, and his hands shook so badly that he dropped the tie twice. "Come on, come on," he urged himself in a low hiss, forcing his trembling fingers to move faster. At last, the last button slipped into place, though crooked, and he didn't dare waste time fixing it.

He tugged on his pants in a rush, nearly toppling over as one leg caught in the fabric, and had to hop across the room to keep his balance. Grabbing his jacket off the back of a chair, he yanked it on with jerky movements, his breath coming fast and uneven. His hair, always a hopeless mess, looked worse than ever, sticking up in tufts that refused to be tamed no matter how many frantic swipes of his hand tried to flatten them.

The moment Rody stepped outside, the world greeted him with a cold slap. The rain wasn't just falling—it was pouring, sheets of water tumbling from the sky with no mercy. Great. Just great. He didn't have an umbrella, didn't even own a proper coat, and now he was going to have to bike through this.

He cursed his luck bitterly, blinking furiously against the water dripping down his lashes. His old, rusty bike leaned crookedly against the wall where he'd left it, its frame squeaking in protest as he hauled it upright. He mounted it without hesitation, pedaling furiously, legs burning as he tried in vain to outrun the relentless storm. The wheels cut through puddles with sharp splashes, water spraying up and soaking his pants until they clung heavy to his skin.

By the time Rody actually reached the restaurant, he was drenched through, resembling more of a drowned rat than a waiter. Shivering, he sucked in a deep breath to steady himself and pushed open the restaurant door.

The warm, dry air inside was a shock compared to the freezing misery outside, but it offered little comfort when he realized what waited for him. Blinking away the water dripping into his eyes, Rody looked up—and his stomach dropped.

You were standing there, arms crossed, gaze sharp and unyielding. The sight of your stern expression was worse than the rain.

His throat tightened immediately, shame burning in his chest. "Sorry, I'm late..." he stammered, trying to muster a sheepish smile that faltered the moment it met your eyes. His voice wavered, thin and uneven, and he shifted nervously from foot to foot, dripping onto the floorboards.

All he could do was swallow hard, bite back the urge to ramble, and pray you wouldn't fire him on the spot.