One shots

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"Sir, an Úna." He cut him off.

There was only one person he knew with that name. And had had to clench his fists at how just her name was enough to get the blood coursing through him. He was shaken inside, trembling like a leaf. He hasn't seen her for years and yet she was here, at this time, as a storm was growing worse outside.

"Let her in." His voice wavered. It never wavered.

She felt a ray of hope for the first time in years. And all these years she had thought all within her had died.  She could barely see through the rain as it steadily grew heavier. She loved at a snails pace as she finally stopped in front of the mansion. Home it called out to her. But even if she craved that, she knew it was was something she could only dream of having.

She ran up the series of steps that led to the front door. One was cracked open and a face she never thought she would see again was standing their. And umbrella shielding him as he looked at her disapprovingly. In her short time at the mansion Thomas the butler had been her only confidante. She wanted to cry looking at the man who had aged, laughing wrinkles deeply etched into his pale skin. He looked tired, alarmed and concerned at seeing her state. She couldn't blame him. And even then she didn't think twice of hugging the only man that was like a father figure to her after her short five years with her own. She would never forget the generosity of this man. And as he put an arm around her, ushering her in like one a child, she felt humbled. For love like this was hard to find.

Her skin stung from the sudden warmth. Thomas took her coat though it did very little for her drenched state. She was shivering she realised, her teeth chattering as she held herself whilst being led into the main room on the right, a fire had already been lit and she was greedy for the warmth it provided.

For the first time in years, he fought and inner battle. Her name, knowing she was in the vicinity was enough for him to feel. His world was off kilter, and he roughly breathed in, in an attempt to gain some control. He schooled his thoughts, mannerisms, and face with each step he took getting closer to her. She rattled him, and like there was a thread connecting them he could feel where she was heading there without having to be told. But she did not need to know that.

She was feeling herself waver. The cracks in her armour widening with every crackling of the wood in the fire. She felt a warmth she didn't realise she had been craving. And she fought the tears that threatened to fall. For once they started they would not stop like the never ending flow of the river. So she closed her eyes, counted to five before turning to face him. Because no matter how quiet, no matter how far, as if fated she could always feel the presence of him. Cillian held an aura that sucked you in, until you got lost in nothing but him.

"Cillian." She wanted to sound strong.

But he caught the hitch, the crack of the beginning of tears. But he watched as she willed them to not fall. And all he wanted to do was gather her in his arms and stroke her hair as she let the fall. He would catch her. He wanted to reassure her, but his head said there was more to it. And so he steeled himself, fists clenching by his sides.

He took in her state. She was cold. Soaking to the bone and likely to catch a cold. Wispy black hair, pin straight matted to her face. She was still a gangly woman, with little shape. But he was drawn to her. The slanted eyes that were once starry had lost their light. Pouty small lips that were always a soft pink were turning a hue of blue. Creamy white skin looked ashen. She was thin and frail. He could recognised another drowning human anywhere. And he found himself wanting to saw her.

"Yura." She tensed at the name no one had used in years.

Her mother was the only person to call her that. She would say it reminded her of her father, the time she spent in Korea. Before he died. Before she lost herself to the drinks, to high society and to the men. From then on, she simply had become Úna the daughter of Emily. Emily whoever she felt like being in the moment. The heart she thought was long dead felt. It shocked her, but it hurt as it squeezed painfully tight. She couldn't help the jagged fake smile that painted her small lips. She could still remember how he was the only person to call her that. First out of hate and indifference. And then the homely comfort it would bring her.