When she woke, it was the middle of the night. The space next to her in the bed she and Michael shared was empty and cold, the void he left behind cloying enough to wake her from a deep sleep. She sat up quickly, searching the vast expanse of the loft for any sign of him, expecting for him to be standing at the counter with a yogurt or perhaps at the workbench reassembling a gun after having cleaned it. She frowned, however, when she saw that the doors leading out onto the balcony were wide open allowing the rain to spill into the loft and onto the wooden floor as it splashed and clacked against the concrete.
Outside, a figure stood hunched over, the downpour beating against his exposed back. A rapid flash of lightning illuminated him, painting an almost eerie picture that stemmed from the daunting feelings one often gets from storms. Thunder immediately followed, clashing from above and all around and causing her to jump. The figure leaning over the railing stood stock still like a stone gargoyle keeping watch atop a gothic castle.
Covering her naked form with one of his discarded button-up shirts, she approached him slowly, wary of going out in the rain herself but knowing that she needed to retrieve him from whatever hell he was putting himself through. She stood just inside the door, watching the shivers that rolled through his lean frame.
"Michael," She spoke his name quietly but just loud enough to be heard over the gale, "come inside."
Michael did not acknowledge her, did not even seem to notice her presence. His shoulders tensed, the muscles in his back clenching as the minute tremors coursed through him again. Cautiously, Fiona came to stand beside him. "Michael?"
The haunted look she found in his eyes was unsurprising but still just as jarring. Still, he didn't look at her. She could see just how much he was struggling to keep it together, to keep the dam with all his repressed emotions battering the thin wall from breaking open and causing a great flood. She knew it would only be a matter of time before that moment came, and it was no wonder that, after everything that has happened, the wall had sprung a few leaks.
Michael looked at her, finally, his resolve becoming dangerously thin. He was always able to say so much with just a look. Fiona didn't need for him to say the words to know how much he loved her. The emotion that he could convey through just a blink of an eye showed through like the beacon of a lighthouse guiding ships home from the sea. It could, however, be stifled just as quickly, appearing to have never existed at all if he want it to.
The internal struggle was evident now. He could fall into the arms of the woman he loved and allow her to comfort him, to love him. Or, he could swallow it all down and carry on with the façade, patching another crack in the wall. A soft hand on his cheek broke him from his reverie, grounding him enough to return to the present and stare down at his… Girlfriend? Lover? There wasn't a word in existence that could describe what he and Fiona shared.
The rain had begun to saturate her hair, flattening it around her face and framing it in a way that made him want to hold it between his hands and place a gentle kiss on her lips. He found himself unable to move though, unable to act upon his desire. He could only just stare down at her. She took his wrist into her hand, leading him back inside and toward the bed. She helped him to shed his rain-sodden sleep pants before removing the shirt that covered her and pulling him back into bed where she curled against his chest and kept him anchored to the present for the rest of the night.
*Title from The Wind Blows Backwards by Mary Downing Hahn, simply because I cannot get it out of my head