Lightning flashes in the sky and the lights inside flicker as if in warning. Arya pulls the blanket closer around her and grasps the flashlight in her sweaty palm.
It's not as if she's scared of storms. Is she afraid of water? No, she takes a shower ever day? Is she afraid of wind? Of course not, her favorite thing during the summer is to have the fan blowing on her during the noonday sun. She's not afraid of darkness, that's for certain, because darkness is the best time for whispered conversations in bed. And it's not being alone, she has spent a thousand nights on her own, she can live life solitary and not care.
But somehow, something about storms unnerves her.
Her heart races and she nervous snakes a hand out from under her cocoon for her mug of hot chocolate and almost spills it all over herself when the boom of thunder echoes. It may be her imagination, but it feels like it rocks her entire body with its vibration.
Once she slurps a sip she pretends to enjoy the taste and warmth running down her throat, but she can't concentrate on that.
Again the light flashes outside, and she hears terrified and happy shrieks from outside as some stupid person tries to run from their car to the building without getting wet. By the sound of it, she is unsuccessful, and Arya hears some mournful speech about the state of her clothes, even though the window.
The rain is hitting even harder on the window, and begins to bleed through the peephole on the front door and drip down. Water finds its way through the cracks between the door and the frame and begins to pool in the entry way.
For a few minutes, she stares at the growing pool of water and knows she should do something.
Finally, the water is bare centimeters from reaching the carpeting from the tile of the entry way, and Arya finally finds the will within herself to move. Abandoning her blanket, she clenches her hand around the flashlight and pads across the room to the closet for a towel and to find some candles. If rain is coming through the door, it will only be a matter of time until the power goes out. She knows this as a fact, as true to her as if it were in her bones.
Glass clinks together as she grabs all the candles she can find and searches desperately for a lighter, or even some matches. She curses herself for not being better prepared, for not having this all ready, for ignoring the oncoming storm that was so evident in the color of the sky and even the feel of the air.
Finally, she finds a lighter with some fluid still inside and shoves that in her hand next to the flashlight, then bundles her collection of candles in an old towel for transport. Mission completed, she carefully walks back to the living room and sets her collection free on the floor, ready to be lit as soon as she returns.
Arya can't help but shriek a little bit and hate herself for it when the lights flicker once again, and she shoves the towel against the base of the door and calls it good enough.
With shaking hands, she flicks the lighter once, twice, three times, four times...finally, on her fifth try, she manages to get a flame started and lights a candle. She can feel the metal growing hot against her thumb, but her desire to have candles lit trumps her instincts to protect herself from being burned.
When she is halfway through, the lights go on, off, on. off, on, off, and after five seconds pass, Arya knows that they're gone for good, and she is grateful she at least got a few candles lit ahead of time.
To distract herself, she finishes lighting candles and sets them around the apartment – on tables and shelves, a few in the kitchen, some pushed up against the mirror to reflect the light. She even sets one in the bathroom sink, which sheds a surprising amount of light.
Once her task is completed, she goes back to the couch because she doesn't know what else to do and wraps herself once more in the blanket and watches the flame of the candle in front of her dance. She thinks of turning on the radio, but doesn't want to find batteries. Besides, hearing someone talk about the storm would just be too much to think about.
The thunder booms so loud that the glasses in the kitchen clink against each other to the point that Arya is concerned that when the storm passes, she will be surrounded by piles of broken glass. She is considering this when the door slams open and rain blows in. With a start, she grabs her flashlight and leaps up to close the door, concerned because she had made sure to lock it when the wind started blowing.
She shrieks again, because there is a figure illuminated by the latest flash of lightning, a hulking shadow at the doorstep.
She is even more surprised when the figure says her name in an unmistakably familiar voice.
"Gendry?" she whispers, almost as if she's saying a prayer.
The figure steps forward and the flickering light from her candles, and she can see it is him. His blue eyes are almost covered by the hair pressed against his head from the rain, and his clothes are completely drenched.
Gendry shoves the door shut behind him and bolts it shut and his feet squelch over the drenched towel lying on the ground.
Arya ignores the fact that he looks like he just crawled out of the ocean and runs to him and throws her arms around him. Instantly, the cold rain soaks through her shirt and makes goosebumps rise up over her body, but she doesn't care.
"Why are you here?" she whispers into his dripping shirt, her words catching in the fabric. He is shivering but making no move to dry off or cover up, and stands there, holding her.
"I couldn't let you be alone for this," he says simply, and presses her close to him when another lighting bolt strikes.
When finally her heartbeat slows to a normal rhythm she pulls back and tugs on his arm. "Let me get you something dry to wear, towels, something."
He shakes his head, then kicks off his shoes, which hit the door with soggy thuds. Then, without warning, he reaches for the buttons on his shirt, and Arya stares at him in confusion.
"I don't want to drip water all over," he explains as he drops the sodden piece of clothing to the tile and reaches for the button of his jeans.
Arya quickly dashes for the closet again and pulls out the biggest, fluffiest towel she can find and brings it to him. By then, he is struggling with a sock that refuses to come off as she wraps the towel around him. Finally, he follows her back to the bedroom and rubs his hair roughly. It stands up on end and makes him look like a crazy person.
He insists she change too, since she ended up almost as wet as he was, then they go back to the couch and ignore the mess in the entryway. She pulls the blanket over them and they sit quietly for a few minutes as the chill leaves their bones.
"I didn't think you'd come," she quietly admits from under cover of her blanket cocoon.
In response, Gendry just pulls her closer and whispers 'I love you' in her ear.
When morning comes, they awake to find themselves tangled around each other under the blanket. With the sun out, Arya finds it much easier to smile and burrows closer to Gendry, and knows that he will always be there for her.
Author's Note: So, I'm doing NaNoWriMo this month, and just caught up for three days I missed since I was sick, and wanted to do a quick Arya/Gendry one shot. After scouring the internet for a prompt to inspire me, I found rain, and about half an hour later, this is the result. NaNo has killed my ability to re-read my own stuff, so I apologize for any errors. Happy November!