✓ Meanwhile [h.styles]

.eleven.

Harry's head is craned back against the side of the house. The cigarette dangling from the fingers of his right hand hasn't been put out by the ongoing rain yet. Normally he'd take cover from all of the water, but tonight is different. There's fresh blood on his hands and it feels so good to finally get it off his skin.

He parts his lips to take another drag of the cigarette only to feel some stray droplets of rain trickle down his tongue. The way it feels as it falls down his practically naked chest from the very thin fabric of his shirt is refreshing. A heavy round of thunder shakes his body slightly and it's not long before a bright strike of lightning lightens everything around him.

He closes his eyes and pushes his head back even more, reopening then to find a new view of his old bedroom's balcony. What shocks him, though, isn't that the window is open and the rain is pushing its way past the curtains. It's that Astraya is leaning against the bannister above him. Her head is down and her hair is soaked and covering most of her face. From where he's at, all he can really see are her hands fastened on the wood of the barrier. Her knuckles are white and her fingers are trembling near the tips.

Harry pushes his hair back and has his mind made up before he even glances at the ladder attached to the side of the house. He shakes out his freezing cold hands, ditches the lit cigarette, tilts his head back, and then begins to climb the ladder. He moves soundlessly, shifting his weight whichever way he wants when the thunder rolls in and overlaps whatever sound he makes.

He hooks his legs over the bars and lightning strikes somewhere in the distance, outlining the smaller body in front of him.

Slowly, he creeps up from behind her, clearing his throat by her ear when he's finally close enough. "What are you doing out here?"

Astraya whips around quickly with wide eyes. Her hair is still covering most of her face but he can see the frightened expression in what does show. She steps around him and pushes her hair back so she can properly meet his gaze.

Lightning. Her face momentarily lights up in blue and some shadows catch under her eyes. This time it doesn't look like she's sad or scared.

"The storm woke me."

He drops his eyes to her thin fingers tapping stiffly against her elbows from her folded arms. "You can get sick."

She nods and he can see her hands shaking. He knows he should probably get her out of the freezing cold water but he hates to admit that he likes standing like this: the both of them under the rain and sharing the same space and silence. It's more intimate this way.

She walks closer to the large window leading to the bedroom but Harry doesn't let her get too far. He's quick to barricade her with his arms, palms pressing painfully against the cold glass she now has her back against.

She rubs her hands together and then brings them under his shirt nonchalantly. He revels in the cool touch of her fingertips grazing his lower torso, but the feeling is gone quickly when she begins to bunch up his shirt so her hands can hide in the fabric.

"You're not going to find any warmth."

Astraya frowns up at him and leans a little closer, shaking her head and letting some droplets splatter across his face. "You smell like blood."

And he finds it quite ironic. The way her face twists in disgust while her fingers find mediocre warmth in the bloody shirt he has on. He leans closer to her body, swallowing her shadow and almost shielding her completely from the rain. "I had to work today."

"What do you do?"

Harry bites his tongue and drops his head back as lightning cracks across the sky. He doesn't want to have this conversation with her. He doesn't want to explain himself to her because she won't understand. Not when it involves so many deaths and so little time.