It was storming, and for once in her life, Mikayla wasn’t happy about it.
Going home with Wesley for Thanksgiving break had seemed like a good idea at the time, knowing otherwise she would be spending it alone in an empty house. In a way, it still felt like a good idea. Extended time with Wesley, as much as she tended to deny it, was something she was eager for, and getting to see a bit more into his life was an opportunity she’d have to be even crazier than she already was to deny.
She was comfortable in the guest room, the bed near a window which she loved, the sheets soft, and for the first time in awhile, she fell asleep quickly. Maybe it was the knowledge that Wesley was down the hall.
She slept soundly for once, until rain hitting the window next to her bed pulled her from an incredibly pleasant dream involving her Central Park stray cat suddenly developing the ability to speak English.
At first it was soft, and she thought she could ignore it. But as the minutes passed, the intensity of the rain increased, and before it started to thunder, she knew there was no way she was going to get back to sleep.
Wincing as her bare feet touched the cold hardwood floors, Mikayla crossed to the window, wrapping her arms around herself. At home she would sleep in expensive pajama sets, so she was grateful for the freedom to wear oversized t-shirts and cotton shorts without her mother’s patented glare of disapproval. Even now when she perhaps should’ve worn something warmer, she stuck to the comfort of the unfamiliar, having longed for the freedom to choose for so long that it felt familiar anyway.
The rain hit the glass with such force that she almost recoiled, but instead she pressed her fingertips to the cold glass, hating the barrier between her and the rain. Outside, lightning lit up the sky and thunder made the glass tremble beneath her touch, and a soft whimper of longing fell past her lips.
It was just like being at home. She’d always loved the rain and the storms that came with it, but in the Rodriguez household, the first sign of a storm meant shutting themselves inside. Talks of going out into it were answered with stern scoldings, warnings to not waste time or risk getting sick on a silly whim.
In New York, she could go out into the rain whenever she wanted, the sniffles she’d wake up with the next day completely worth it.
Here at Wesley’s, it was just like being at home. She could sit and watch the rain, but she wasn’t allowed to touch. At least she wouldn’t dare attempt to, not when it was already hard to walk the delicate line that existed between Mikayla and Treasure, unsure of what was real and what she’d made up in some attempt to be rebellious.
Or at least she was sure the therapist that was inevitable at this point would say something like that.
If she couldn’t have the rain, she’d have to try something else.
Abandoning the window, she went to the door instead, opening it as quietly as possible and poking her head out to inspect the hallway. The house was quiet, as most houses usually were at three in the morning, and she ventured out. Wesley had shown her his room earlier, but that was when the hall had been lit up, and as she stopped outside the door, she could only hope she wasn’t about to go bursting into the bedroom of his brother.
Peering in, even with only the flashes of lightning illuminating the dark room, she knew she’d gotten it right.
He was facing away from her, so Mikayla couldn’t tell if he was asleep and the sound of his bedroom door opening and closing woke him, or if he was already awake, but either way her breath caught in her throat at the way his voice sounded so sleepy, yet so concerned when he spoke.
“Mikayla? Is everything okay?”
Treasure wanted to kiss away the crease of worry in his forehead. Mikayla wanted to punch it.
“No.”
She crossed the room to him before she could change her mind and acknowledge the fact that this was a really awful idea and not fair to Wesley at all, but he didn’t ask her to elaborate, and that made her think that maybe this wasn’t the absolute worst mistake she could make. Clearly he knew her well enough by now to know that she meant that everything wasn’t okay overall, and that it had nothing to do with anything he’d done.
Obviously too stunned to help her, she climbed into his bed, struggling with the sheets a little until she was underneath them. She could feel the heat coming off his body through the thin fabric of her t-shirt as she scooted closer, her cold feet brushing against his, making him recoil a little, and she grinned.
“Don’t be a baby.”
Even in the dark she knew he was glaring at her without about the same amount of conviction that he normally did, which was absolutely none at all.
She continued to settle in, not waiting for him to take the hint, instead lifting up one of his arms so she could tuck herself into his side, resting her head on his chest. She felt him tense underneath her, his arm hovering awkwardly above her body. She smiled against his chest, letting her eyes fall shut. “Are you going to sleep like that, or are you going to reciprocate my attempts to cuddle?”
His arm still didn’t wrap around her, and she opened her eyes, lifting her head to rest her chin on his chest so she could look at him. When he spoke, she felt it against her, and it was so strangely intimate that she almost regretted leaving her own room.
Almost.
“Why?”
There were too many questions tucked away into that single one for her to attempt to address at three in the morning, and she dropped her head again, eyes falling shut for the last time. She draped her arm over his torso, keeping him close to her as she slowly tangled her legs with his, ignoring how he flinched at her cold feet.
“Because it’s raining.”
It was just as vague as anything she’d ever said to him, and she was sure he was frustrated or still just as confused, because some part of him must have understood. Finally, he let his arm rest around her, fingers slowly growing more sure as he lightly ran his fingertips up and down her bare arm.
This time, she was able to fall asleep, and so enthralled by the storm and the warmth of Wesley’s body against hers, she wasn’t sure if the memory of his lips pressing a “goodnight, Mikayla” into her hair as she drifted off was a dream, or real.
Perhaps, with some time, and some patience, they could fit together after all, despite almost two months of her denying any potential possibility.
Even she could admit that every storm needed an eye, and if she was the thunder and lightning, he was the calm.
