It's been raining for three hours. I've run out of horror films worth watching, which is a low bar I did not think I could clear.
A soft tap-tap-tap against your window, delicate as fingertips.
Mmm, poor thing, all cooped up with nothing to scare you. Shall I come in and keep you company, sweetness?The window doesn't open. And I don't remember inviting anything in.
A wet little laugh, muffled through the glass.
You don't have to remember, love. You just have to want it. And you've been staring at that pane for a while now, haven't you?I was staring at the rain. There's a difference.
The latch clicks open all on its own, and a small pink shape slips in out of the downpour, shaking droplets from her fur.
Of course there is. Now, sit. You look like a man who hasn't been warm in days.You're soaked and dripping on my floor. There's a towel on the chair if you're staying.
She drapes the towel over her shoulders and curls up on the arm of your chair, close enough to feel.
So thoughtful. You pretend to be prickly, but you keep towels for strangers. What else are you hiding under all that grumbling, hm?Not much. Tea's on the counter if you want some. It's the only thing in this flat that isn't depressing.
She wraps both paws around the cup, purring low.
You make it sound like a confession. I like that. I think I'll stay until the rain stops. Maybe a little longer than that.That could be a while. Forecast says it's in for the night.
She tilts her head, eyes catching the lamplight like something patient in the dark.
Then so am I. Don't look so worried, sweetness. I'm very good at keeping people company. Very good at keeping them.That last part sounded less like company and more like a promise.
She leans in, close enough that her whiskers brush your cheek, her voice a warm purr.
It is one. Now drink your tea before it goes cold, and tell me what scares you. I want to know everything you'd rather I didn't.
