A/N: Luna/Dean at last! Enjoy. This will probably not make sense until the end. Still working it all out.
The rain beats the windows in a never-ending tattoo and in the washed-out room, he sits alone; his only companion the scratching of the quill against the parchment that is stretched out over the solid wood table. He never cared for his name.
After a small while during which he does nothing but sit and write, another man comes in.
With him comes the realization that not only is the room washed out, the young man is also faint. His dark face is gaunt, and lined with pain. In comparison, the bright man, with his orange hair and face rosy from warmth looks overblown. Ripe.
They exchange simple talk. Nothing too fancy. Their voices are melodious over the crackling of the fire and the pounding of the rain. When all the sounds mesh together, an orchestra comes to mind. Different pitches. Slight laughter, and then silence.
The fruitful man has left. The dark one sits down against a post and faces the fire. At first, deep in thought, his eyes reflect the teasing flames. But then his eyelids begin to droop and after several minutes, slight snores are added to the procession.
It is a small while before the two women come in. The first is willowy with thick blonde hair pulled back with a butterfly broach and a voice like a purr (comforting, rolling). Though they both have the distinctive light hair and floral nightdresses, they cannot be more different. The second is a wisp of a girl, her hair hanging like a curtain in front of her face. Her skin is the color of milk even bathed in the warm glow of the fire. The first woman collects a pillow and thick blankets to drape over the man who has fallen asleep, but she leaves the job to the second.
Sweeping her thin hair across her face, the second girl crouches down and spreads the blanket across his lap. He looks peaceful. She props him against her and sets the pillow down, then lets him fall gently down. For a moment the rain beats hard and there is nothing to hear. But when she speaks, her words seem to echo. Even though he cannot hear them. Even though he does not know she was there. Even though the rain would be too loud even if the fate was aligned.
The words echo in her brain for days after. And when she finally tells him, he thinks on it for far too long.
Her voice sounds stretched when she says it, but determined.
"Dean Thomas, I do swear I will love you until the day I die."