Rainy Days - Prinxiety AU

Rainy Days

     I gently tap my pen against the notebook, listening to the harsh, uneven rhythm of rain hitting the window. Outside, everything is unforgivably grey. It's like someone stole all of the colours and left the world in desaturated despair. If only I could find a way to write that without sounding utterly depressing. 

     Two rings at the doorbell allow me to step away from my thoughts, but I'd hardly call it a break. Two rings only ever seem to mean one thing.

     I stand from the couch and set down my notebook and pen on the coffee table.

     When I open the front door, it's with little surprise that I find Virgil standing there with his hood covering most of his face. He's soaked from head to toe. His hoodie clings to his shoulders in a way that really makes him resemble a wet cat. He must have walked all the way here.

     He pulls down his hood but doesn't look at me. Still, I can see that his eyes are glassy and red and his face is flushed. He shrugs. "I lost my key again," he says, but that's just an excuse that he uses. What he's actually saying is 'I can't be at home right now'. I step aside and let him in without question--I learned after the first two times that asking anything will just upset him more.

     His eyeshadow is smudged over his cheeks from getting wet. I wonder idly how much of that was the rain, and how much is from him crying. He shuffles past me, and his shoes are kicked off before I can even close the door. He hesitates for a moment, then looks me in the eye at last.

     It only takes me a second to figure out the question he's trying to ask with that look.

     "I don't have any other company," I say. "Go dry off and get changed." He nods, and I uselessly add "Anything from the closet," even though I know that he knows that. I can never be certain with him, whether he'll remember that he's allowed to make himself at home here.

     As he leaves for my bedroom, I go to the kitchen to make hot chocolate.

     While the water boils, I hum quietly over the rain. Not any specific song. It's more just a collection of notes in no particular order.

     Impatience gets the best of me after not even a minute, and I walk back to the living room to retrieve my notebook and start writing again.

     By the time Virgil is back, dressed in the only black sweatshirt I own (which is just a tad too big on him) and a pair of grey sweatpants, there are two mugs of hot chocolate on the coffee table. One in front of me, and the other in front of the spot on the couch next to me. I gesture for him to sit. It takes a moment of uncertain hesitation, but he walks over and drops himself beside me.

     It takes a great effort not to complain about the space he leaves between us.

     His hands are shaking as he reaches for his mug. "I'll get a blanket," I say. He shakes his head as I move to stand.

     "Don't."

     "Virgil," I sigh. He shakes his head again.

     I don't even remember when I became so determined to take care of him. It might have been the third or fourth time he showed up like this, but I don't think that's right. I distinctly remember the wave of protectiveness even that very first time, when I opened the door and saw him standing there all dishevelled and misty-eyed. He looked so... scared. I let him fall right into my arms and cry until he was ready to tell me what happened.

     It got harder after that. As his mother's illness got worse, his father got more and more distant, and the less and less Virgil wanted to talk. At some point, something changed. It was like Virgil finally snapped, and everything went downhill from there. He locked down his emotions. Now it takes every effort I have to get him to open up about anything, let alone his family situation.