Chapter 5: Rain, a Hoodie, and the Sunday Park Debrief
It started as one of those rare Leeds Sundays where the sun actually showed up.
Ted and Ken had arranged their usual catch-up in Roundhay Park, lured by rumours of a pop-up food truck market and a decent espresso stall. They snagged a table near a string of fairy lights someone had very optimistically strung through still-bare trees.
Ted took a bite of his bánh mì and moaned.
“This is so good I might marry it.”
“You say that about bread and men who ghost you,” Ken replied, sipping his iced coffee with far too much judgement.
“Excuse you—I’ve only been ghosted twice.”
“And one of them came back just to ask for your Netflix password.”
Ted rolled his eyes.
“And that’s why you’re my emergency contact.”
Ken grinned.
“Lucky me.”
They ate in companionable silence for a minute. Ted watched a group of uni students struggle to assemble a folding tent in the wind, and he chuckled.
Then Ken went in.
“So. Aaron.”
Ted sighed.
“What about him?”
“You’re smiling. Like, actual serotonin levels I haven’t seen since we watched that K-drama where the two baristas fell in love.”
Ted tried not to grin harder. Failed.
“He’s… nice.”
“Nice?”
Ken echoed, unimpressed.
“That’s it? Nice? You’ve talked about this man’s biceps like they were a religious experience.”
“I didn’t—okay maybe I did.”
Ken leaned in.
“Are you catching feels, or just spiralling romantically as usual?”
Ted hesitated, playing with his napkin.
“It’s different. He’s… steady.”
“Steady?”
“Yeah. Like. He says exactly what he means. No mind games. No weird comments about my ‘vibe.’ Just… quiet and sincere. And weirdly obsessed with delphiniums.”
Ken raised an eyebrow.
“You like sincere. Remember Noah?”
“That was too sincere. He read me poetry about mangoes.”
“You dated him for a month.”
“I was emotionally vulnerable and there was a heatwave!”
They both laughed.
Ken leaned back, quieter now.
“Do you like him because he’s different… or because he doesn’t know the old you?”
That landed harder than Ted expected.
Ted picked at the crust of his sandwich.
“I think… it’s nice to not be someone’s ‘healing project,’ you know? With Aaron, it’s not about fixing anything. He doesn’t try to analyse me. He just sees me.”
Ken nodded.
“You always wanted that.”
“I always wanted you to stop dating guys who wear fedoras, but here we are.”
Ken threw a napkin at him.
“It was one guy and it was a phase.”
“Correction. It was two, and it lasted three months.”
They grinned at each other. The kind of grin only uni friendship and emotional baggage could make.
Then the rain hit.
Out of nowhere, the clouds rolled in like a villain monologuing in a K-drama, and the heavens opened.
“Bloody hell,”
Ted yelped, grabbing his bag.
They sprinted toward the covered walkway by the café, slipping and laughing, clothes already soaked.
Ted caught sight of himself in the café window—drenched, hair flattened, jumper clinging—and groaned.
“I look like a Victorian chimney sweep on his day off.”
Ken burst out laughing.
“You look like an underpaid extra in Les Mis.”
Then—“Ted.”
Ted turned.
Aaron was there.
Hood up, clearly on his way back from a run or some godforsaken act of cardio. Still somehow dry. He paused, taking in the scene.
Ted, drenched. Ken, doubled over laughing.
Ted straightened.
“Hi.”
Aaron nodded.
“Rain.”
Ted gestured at himself.
“It’s my signature look now.”
Aaron looked at Ken.
“You alright?”
Ken composed himself.
“Peachy. You must be Aaron.”
Aaron nodded.
“Yeah.”
Ken stuck out a hand.
“Ken.”
Aaron took it, firm and polite.
Ken leaned in conspiratorially.
“He never introduces anyone to me. Consider yourself vetted.”
Ted groaned.
“Ignore him.”
Aaron looked between them, then offered Ted something—his hoodie.
“Take it. You’ll get a cold.”
Ted stared at it. At Aaron. At his life choices.
“You’re serious?”
Aaron raised a brow.
“You’ve seen me at the gym. I’ll be warm in five minutes.”
Ted took it.
It was soft. Smelled faintly like cedar and something warm.
He slipped it on.
And Ken mouthed you’re in so deep behind Aaron’s back.
⸻
Later, as the rain lightened, Aaron walked them to the corner.
Ken peeled off toward his flat, flashing a subtle thumbs-up.
Aaron looked at Ted.
“You okay?”
Ted nodded.
“Yeah. Thanks. For the hoodie and… not laughing at me.”
Aaron blinked.
“I like you like this.”
“Wet and shivering?”
“No. Real.”
Ted smiled.
And maybe—just maybe—he was letting himself believe this could be something.
⸻