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It took longer than you thought it would.
By the time three o'clock in the morning rolls around and the recently descended fully-fledged storm shows no sign on letting up anytime soon, she's still awake. You've been sitting there against the headboard for at least four hours, in almost complete silence, every now and then letting your fingers sift through her dark hair.
She's buried in your warmest hoodie, and wrapped in your arms, and you can see the fatigue and emotional exhaustion beginning to set in on the witch's face in the poor light. You had left your closet light on so she could see where she was going. In hindsight, you realise that she probably won't move from her current position.
Still, she doesn't close her eyes. She's too busy trying not let the grip she has on you falter.
"You need to sleep," you whisper, scared that if you speak too loud, you will spook her, and that she'll realise that it's your house and your bed that she's in before running off wearing your clothes.
She doesn't vocalise a reply, only shaking her head into the shoulder of the t-shirt you were wearing to bed.
"Please?" you ask, adding some pressure to your fingers as nails scratch scalp lightly. Her eyes droop, and she looks up at you to attempt a world famous 'Faye Chamberlain glare'. It doesn't work.
She jumps when there's a knock at your closed bedroom door, and you nearly find yourself face to face with her. The grip around your middle tightens momentarily, as if she's scared it's her mother ready to take her home even though it's becoming apparent that she really doesn't want to leave.
"Don't make me leave."
"You're not going anywhere."
It's your father. Apparently he had been awake this whole time. Your glare, however, is still in perfect condition and aimed in his direction when a mention of Henry comes from his mouth; an offering of his condolences. It then dawns on you that you're not going to get any sleep at all because tears are streaming, wracking the brunette's body with violent shakes.
As you silently thank your father with angry sarcasm, watching as he backs out of your room, he says that she can stay as long as she wants.
Your attempts to calm her have a weak effect, "I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."
She's a solitary creature, refusing to let others see her break, or show anything other than a bad arse reputation. You were the one she had chosen to see her softer side. You didn't want to fuck it up.
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