The first time she sees him; this new version of him, she is silent, her soul is empty, devoid of emotion. Eyes scan carefully over handsome features, familiar features, but how could dark eyes be so cold, she wonders.
She takes him in, the wide shoulders and careless posture, the angles of his jaw and curve of his neck, all of them crash and she wants to laugh, because it is him, and she hasn't laid eyes on him for six months; and cry, because there is nothing of the oh-so playful familiarity she is used to. This man could be a stranger, for all she knows.
But he can't be, her mind reasons. Her heart agrees, hitting her ribs again and again, until Juvia finds it hard to breathe. She is still weak, her illness had yet to pass and she brings the rain with her, she brings it in her search for dry warmth.
She only finds the bottom of the sea.
But her disappointment is quiet, her anguish even more so. She doesn't know whether there are raindrops on her face, or if they're tears and her small, almost inexistent sobs are met with frozen indifference.
This man, this man scares her. For so long she's only felt love and sadness, and they've been her companions for most of her life. Occasionally, there was hatred, jealousy, sometimes even the smallest drop of despair. But never fear.
But this is fear, this sinking feeling, and she finds the rain go colder and colder by the second, chilling her feverish body. The man with slicked back hair and dark marks on his skin invokes fear. There is an image, an image beyond those cold, dead eyes, an image of a laughing man, whose arms were strong and whose embrace was safe and whose soul had chased away the rain clouds, but he's gone.
The irony hits her, much like the hate in his eyes, quietly. It is as if they had never met, as if those years were for nothing, they were back at the start, with no love lost there.
And then, there is no more thunder, no more lightning; nom there is no unusual anymore. There is only the steady drip-drop of falling rain, ever-flowing and monotonous. There are only rain clouds, and they are pouring, and yes, the world is gray again.
A/N: soo, drabbles for gruvia week.
I dunno if i'll manage to write for all the prompts, but whatevs. prompt: quiet