under the covers [hs au]

preface.

The rain poured wholeheartedly, dripping down from the sky as she trotted through the crowd of idle people, hoping to catch the train. Her olive-green raincoat didn't conceal her long black hair as she wished, and she knew most of it would be wet and undone by the time she stepped into the train.

She searched the board for the number of the train that went to Chester, realizing that she had only a few more seconds before it'd leave. She ran, quickly and cautiously, stomping emphatically into the puddles. When she spotted the train she wanted to catch, it seemed to shift out of place, so she sprinted, and for the first time, she didn't care to apologize that she was pushing people out of the way. There was no time to sputter any words of apology.

By the time she made it, the train closed its doors. This was a train she could not miss, so she started banging on the glass. "Let me in!" She exclaimed. Of course, to those watching the spectacle, she was a crazy foreigner, however, she didn't care what people thought of her, and she never intended to get drenched in the rain after torturing her feet for what felt like miles.

After a few more violent jabs of her fist, the doors opened. Relieved, she stepped inside, engulfed by the warmth, and noticed the awkward glances that came her way. But she kept a teeny smile on her face as she removed the hood of her raincoat from her head because right now, all that mattered was that she had escaped the cold rain. She did not care for the stares and whispers aimed her way; she was warm and safe and was going where she needed to go. As her eyes skimmed the train for a seat, she felt a vibration in the pocket of her black jeans.

When she found one empty seat at the end of the aisle, she pulled her phone out to find that her mother was calling her. Putting the phone to her ear, she sat down, keeping her eyes to the window as she answered. "Hello?"

"Samira! Where are you? You didn't call me this morning."

"Sorry, Ma, I was busy running errands," She answered before her mother could go off.

"You got all your groceries?"

"Yes, I did. From . . . what's that place called . . . Tesco? Yeah, I got it from there."

As her mother began to lecture her in a roundabout way she was accustomed to, she discerned a pair of eyes on her but kept her gaze on the gloomy clouds through the window. Samira subtly roamed her eyes around until they met the ones in the seat across from her. The irises were green, almost like the forest back home she'd visit every rainy spring to take pictures. They were gentle in their gaze, fixed onto a sharp, chiseled face.

It was a boy, or a man, that stared; she wasn't sure which because his demeanor was mature beyond his youthful countenance. His locks were an earthy brown and a bit slovenly: she assumed it was from the rain, just as how the rain put curls in her straight black hair. A few little hairs peppered his cheeks and chin, with wisps surrounding his rosy lips. He simply sat there with a pair of headphones over his ears, his arms snuggled over his chest. His body adorned a black coat. As she noted his appearance, he didn't bother to look away as she expected him to. His stare didn't make Samira uncomfortable; it wasn't direful. Maybe he was just being observant, but that wasn't going to stop Samira from questioning his intent.

The curious thing about him was that he only looked at her eyes, nowhere else, even while her eyes wandered all over him. His smaragdine gaze didn't spend a second on her disheveled black hair, the chipped lavender on her fingernails, the droplets running down her skin, nor her swollen rosy lips that she'd spent the day anxiously biting. He focused on just her brown eyes.

"Samira, are you listening to me?"

"Yes Ma, I am," Samira answered as her eyes once again returned to the window.