#*slaps roof of fanfic* this bad boy can fit so much symbolism in it

[paperwayne]

worldy things.

50 Wordless Ways to Say “I Love You” ➡ 21. Sharing your umbrella with them in the rain.

Pairing: Titans!Rachel Roth x Reader

Word Count: 1,232 words

Warning: Religious themes

Rachel tries to make herself invisible at church.

Churches are houses of God, after all – and whatever she is housing, it is the opposite of holy, restless in her legs, itching anxiously in her chest as she sits in the pew and lets the sermon scrape the inside of her damned skull; but she stays, if only for Mom, who plunges herself into religious routine like it’s the only thing that can save them.

(So far, no luck.)

“Want some gum?”

“Sure.”

But even if church turns out to be a bunch of baloney (she banishes this thought immediately just in case it’s not), Rachel is still glad that you��re here.

Most of the members avoid talking to her. Just like the last church, they had said hello for the first attendance, eyes raking over her black clothes and black nail polish and purple hair, and figured that she was another poor, devil-worshipping teenager –

(We’re so glad you’re joining us today

We’re so glad to be here)

– and even now, Raven forces a smile as uncertainty and pity crawls from their hands to hers when she shakes them at the church door. And hey, it’s better than what she gets at school, but pity doesn’t make her feel like any less of a freak.

“… I have some Snickers, too,” you whisper as the speaker continues, pulling a handful of candy out of your pocket. “Want some?”

Rachel holds out a hand. You press one Snickers Minis into her palm out of sight of Mom, looking straight ahead during the deal. Mischief and boredom and friendliness spark underneath her skin at the contact. She squeezes her fingers around the chocolate (it’s an ‘R’), pleased, and stuffs it into her bag for later.

The sermon goes on. She keeps quiet again, listening as best she can; the preacher has a kind aura but talks for way too long, and she only grasps some of his points before getting swept up in boredom again. The verses for today are easy to understand, anyway. (If only the message translated better in real life.)

“Love is patient, love is kind …”

Rachel glances to the side, through the window. The world outside is gray and dim – it’s going to rain.

Mom didn’t bring an umbrella.

By the time the postlude starts playing, the gum is tough and flavorless between her teeth. You lead Rachel out of the sanctuary when your mom starts talking to someone and her mom goes to talk to the pastor.

“Let’s go outside.”

“Are you sure? It’s pretty bad out there.”

Finger guns. “Brought an umbrella.”

You disappear into the coatroom, then pop back out with said umbrella, and the two of you push the doors open to the thick, sharp sound of rain bursting against concrete.

Rachel does not mind the rain too much. In fact, she usually likes it so long as it’s not thundering badly. A harsh storm, raindrops sharp, air heavy and fresh – it’s probably the closest thing she’s ever felt to true peace. Purity.

Up goes the umbrella. Out into the rain go you and Rachel.

“Whoo,” you say. “It feels like hail.”

“Hell?”

“Hail,” you enunciate with a snort. “Rain is, like, the opposite of hell.”

Your tennis shoes are already soaked, and so are the edges of your pants. Rachel had always wondered why you only dressed halfway for church, pairing a nice, ironed shirt and khakis with those old, scuffed-up shoes, but she’s figured that it’s not important enough to ask. The soles of her own shoes are pretty worn too.

When you make your way to your family’s car, you ask if she’s coming over for lunch.

“I don’t know,” Rachel replies, though she’s been craving your mom’s layered three-bean dip for the past week. “I haven’t done the geometry homework yet.”

“It’s just lunch. You can go home to work on it after.”

She raises an eyebrow. “You won’t make me stay until your mom has to kick me out?”

“What? Me? Never.”

You laugh, the umbrella slipping in your hand. Rachel grabs the handle before it falls, and her grip is right above yours, so that the coldness of your skin comes with the flash of amusement and fondness that prickles her nerves like a bad shock. She withdraws.

“So, yay or nay, Rachel?”

“I’ll ask my mom.”

Rachel catches the tail end of your slow, thoughtful nod, and she folds her arms around herself as a rain-laden breeze passes underneath the umbrella.

“She doesn’t like me, does she?”

You say it so matter-of-factly, Rachel can’t help but wince. “She just doesn’t know you like I do,” she counters honestly.

“Aww.” You grin, but it’s a little smaller than usual. “Is it because I tried to talk to you during prayer?”

Rachel shrugs, looking at the puddle at her feet. That had been an issue, but only a minor one. Mom doesn’t like you because you have a weird knack for nailing issues on the head, while Mom would rather say that everything was okay until they are. But talking about that will bring up a whole load of things that you probably shouldn’t know about.

“I’ll come over for lunch,” Rachel says. “Don’t worry.”

Looking over your shoulder, you nudge her and dig your free hand into your pocket. “Hey, who said I was worrying about anything?”

You worry about a lot of things.

“Rachel.” The sound of Mom’s voice through the rain makes Rachel’s head snap up. “There you are. Are you ready to go?”

“Yeah. I mean, actually”—Rachel gestures to you hopefully—“um, can I ride with my friend to have lunch at their house?”

“You can come too, Ms. R,” you pitch in. “My mom always makes too much food.”

Mom looks very reluctant. She has her purse over her head for cover from the rain. It does a poor job. She glances over you and then at Rachel, who puts on her best, pleading look.

After a few moments of standing in the rain, she finally acquiesces. “Well, alright. Thank you for inviting Rachel for lunch. I can pick her up at three.”

“Sweet! Thanks, Ms. R.”

(Maybe ‘Ms. R’ is a bit too casual.)

“Thanks, Mom,” Rachel says, stepping out from the umbrella for just a brief second to hug her. “Uh … you should get to the car. Your clothes are getting really wet.”

“I’ve noticed,” Mom tells her resignedly. “You have fun, sweetheart. Stay safe. Be good. Call me if you need anything.”

Rachel nods quickly. “Mhmm.”

As Mom hurries off, heels clicking, you suck in a breath. “Yeah, she definitely doesn’t like me.”

“She’s glad I have a friend, at least.”

“So we are friends! I knew I could get you with junk food. You had that kinda vibe.”

Cheeks warming at your teasing coo, Rachel rolls her eyes. “Thanks.”

As your mom comes out of the church, umbrella-less just like Rachel’s and slightly irritated because of it, you turn to Rachel.

“Mario Kart after lunch?”

“Only if you want to lose.”

The car’s headlights flash, and you open the passenger door. “Ooh, okay, I see how it is. Now I’m definitely gonna beat you.”

Rachel shakes her head, slipping into the backseat. You follow soon after, folding up the umbrella and shaking it out.

“I’d like to see you try.”