indie » styles

twelfth

day the sixteenth

**

like a good neighbor joy is there,

with a new chapter.

**

She flew out of his house, the rain coming down hard and soaking her body and hair. Tears clouded her vision as her muddied flip-flops slammed against the sidewalk. She raced through puddles, water sprayed her bare feet and legs.

Her house came into view, making her slamming heart rise a tiny bit. Lifting up the rug, she removed the key and jammed it into the door.

Without thinking, she made a beeline to the phone and hastily punched in the numbers. It rang four times before finally being picked up.

"Hello?" His voice was soft and tired, holding a hint of something she couldn't quite deceiver.

"Can I come over?" Wren chocked out, leaning against the wall and running cold fingers through her soaked hair.

"Are you okay?" Harry's tone shifted to instant worry. "Wren, are you crying?"

"Please." Her voice was barely above a whisper. Complete silence was on the other line, the only sound was the pounding rain against the window.

She started to wonder if Harry had hung up and was about to lay down the phone when a ruffle on the other like gave him away.

"Sure," he finally said. "Of course you can come over." More movement in the background. A breath she didn't even know was held in escaped her lips.

"Thanks, Harry," she said softly.

"Hey, don't mention it, neighbor." Harry let out a low chuckle. Without a moment's hesitation, she clicked off the phone and walked to the door.

Wren didn't have the energy to change, just wanting to see Harry as soon as possible. So before she could rethink her decision, she ran across the street to the yellow house.

**

Wren softly knocked on the door, but she grew more desperate as time went on.

She was about to head back or perhaps start running and never look back when the door opened. It exposed harry in a soft white t-shirt and black briefs, his hair was in wild curls as if he'd just woken up and not taken a shower.

Perhaps he had just gotten out of bed, it was probably five in the morning. However, he didn't sound the slightest bit tired on the phone.

"Wrenifred," he whispered, his green eyes alit with sympathy. She hiccupped and rubbed her eyes with the sleeve of her jacket.

"I know, I look horrible." She sighed, crossing and uncrossing her arms across her chest.

"No, no. you look fine." A ghost of a smile lingered on his lips. "Just a little wet." 

He stared at her for a heartbeat, an unreadable expression on her face.

She suddenly felt conscious of the makeup running down her cheeks and the way her clothes pressed against her body. Her hair was in wet tangles, face red and blotchy.

"Sorry if I was interrupting something," she muttered. Harry gave her a sheepish grin.

"You weren't interrupting a thing, darling." He draped a warm arm across her wet shoulder. "Now, let's get you inside before you catch hypothermia."

Giving a feeble nod, she pressed herself against Harry's chest as he guided her inside. He gently shut the door with his free hand, giving her shoulder a small squeeze.