Oct 16, 2001
by BlackRose
"You're letting the storm in."
"It's not a storm," I countered without turning. His footsteps halted somewhere behind my shoulder. "It's only rain."
Sydney made a soft scoffing noise. Outside, it was gray - ever since morning, now into afternoon, and looking to continue well into night. Gray and the rain sheeting down, fat heavy drops that fell to splash against the puddles and dance in a cacophony against the rooftops. I had been sitting there for hours upon the window sill, my back against one side, my feet propped against the other. The rain poured down an arm's reach away, cool and wet, a cascading waterfall spiraling down from the gutters above. "What do you like about rain?" he asked quietly. He had moved a step closer but I hadn't heard it above the sounds outside. I could just feel his presence against my shoulder, like a spot of warmth in the coolness of the rainfall.
"Nothing," I replied. "It's too warm inside."
I heard the soft clink and scrape, metal on metal on wood as he leaned an arm against the window frame just baside me. His voice was close, brushing against the nape of my turned neck with a ghostly promise of heat. "Rain," he mused softly, "turns the whole of the world to churned mud."
"Rain washes things clean," I answered. "It renews."
"Does it?" He sounded faintly amused. An errant scrap of wind stirred outside, billowing the fabric of the curtains inward in swirls of pale gold that fluttered, protesting, before dropping once more. The cold splash of raindrops against my outward turned arm only made the heat of his presence all the sharper against the other.
"I've always prefered fire," Sydney said softly. His fingers scraped softly against the windowframe as he stepped away, his footsteps retreating once more.
