[enolive/mphfpc] chasing shadows

water my soul

A/N: It's been so long since I've written anything that I've honestly just lost the motivation to write... If you're still here after so long - thank you. And thank you all for your kind words and comments - it means a lot to me.

Rainy days are my favorite. Just a little fun they're having outside + excessive imagery.

•

The sky cries with the weight of it, weeping silvery-grey droplets of water. A smattering of tears falls from the clouds, soaking the grass, the ground. Some of the kids shy from it, eyes tilted down, shrieking with excitement, and hurrying inside, away from the downpour.

It's so beautiful.

She always thought she'd hate it — the rain — being almost an opposite of her own character. In theory, it made sense, since the very nature of rain was meant to put her out and freeze her to death (she couldn't stand any degree of cold). Water always doused fire; that was just a simple fact. After only a little while outside, though, she finds that it's not so bad.

The air is thick with the bitter sensation of melancholy ― almost tangible ― and an unwavering pulse of petrichor. What would the sky have to cry about? She breathes in that dark, earthy scent, savoring how cleanly the clouds wash away all of the dirty imperfections. It's beautiful, really, if you would stop for a moment to look. Mist melts into pieces of an ashen sky, as pure, unblemished white folds on top of a silver-lined grey that matches the rainfall. Subdued tones, seeping into dark, inky slashes that are more absence than color, never quite reaching black.

Olive steps towards it, almost shyly, head ducked and eyes turned downward. The drops burst on her skin and clothes, leaving small, wet patches that she realizes she doesn't quite mind. The slow drizzle soon picks up until she can feel her hair flattened against her face by the sheer amount of water.

Shadows cloud over, shading the world in a dusty, pallid grayscale. This is actually something quite unusual for her, being that she tried her best to surround herself with vivid, bright colors all day. It's a little jarring, but also sobering — maybe now she'll be able to look at things more simply, rather than over-complicating them within herself as she usually does.

A thin film of rainwater dances along the rooftops, tapping against frozen windows and closed doors. Everyone else has gone inside, huddle up against crackling fires and bundled beneath layers of clothing and blankets. In this brief moment, the rain is all hers. She finds herself feeling freed, almost, by the solidarity and the comforting feeling of being so in tune with her opposite element. For just a little while, the world is washed in a saturated coating, where everything is bright and fresh and clean.

"Oh, come on out and look at the rain with me, Enoch!" she cries, spinning around gaily, without caring particularly about how wet her dress will be or how much mud her shoes will track into the house. Since their battle from so long ago, Miss Peregrine has realized that Olive can speak for herself, take care of herself. Olive is treated differently from the other young children, who are still stuck in their time loop of endless childhood — both in body and mind. Olive has grown so much from when she first came to the peculiars' home; she's matured and adapted and blossomed. From behind the window, Enoch stands pensively, watching this curious girl completely let herself go as she dances in the rain.

He never had any opinion on rain, specifically. Sure, it was a welcome respite from that constant, damned sunshine that Olive enjoyed so much. He supposed that stormy weather was usually associated with mourning or sadness — which he appreciated. This, however, whatever Olive was doing outside with her arms outstretched and face turned upward — he had no idea what this was. It was unlike anything he had ever seen before.

It's so beautiful.

She calls to him again, speaks his name, which rolls so naturally off her lips. A smile quirks itself up the side of his face as he takes a moment to appreciate how comfortable she is out there that she can refer to him so intimately. With a deep breath, he takes a tentative step toward the door, toward the water, toward her. Is it worth it?

Just as he's about to make his decision, a crack of lightning flickers across the sky, followed shortly by the distant ringing of thunder. Olive flinches, and Enoch almost runs outside right then to catch her before she slips in the mud. All of the sudden, it seems like the fantasy world she was caught in has dissolved; she blinks a few times, wiping stray droplets out of her eyes and wringing out her now dark red hair as she steps in his direction.

Although he's concerned for her, he can't help but smile at the fact that her first instinct when she senses danger is to go to him. Taking care of her had always been one of his secret joys. Enoch reaches out and takes her hand, now soaked practically to the bone.

As he pulls her towards him into the house, he can't help but notice that her cold, pale skin is strongly reminiscent of a corpse.

"Look at you," he chides, clicking his teeth as he instinctively takes off his coat and drapes it around her shoulders.

Olive weakly attempts to pull it off and give it back to him. "It—it'll get wet," she manages, not wanting to accept it.

"Olive, dear, your teeth are chattering."

It's just a single statement, but it makes her stop, and it earns him a slow, tender smile. It makes her whole face glow, and he can practically feel her emotions with every heartbeat that matches a tick of the clock.

He lives for those smiles.

Enoch knows that he isn't the best at showing affection, especially to someone he cares about so much, but it comforts him to know that he's getting better. Although he doesn't say it explicitly, he knows that Olive understands what he means in his gestures and in the quick, tucked away looks he gives her every so often. He means you're freezing, Olive, and I don't care about my coat as long as you're warm, Olive and you've been outside too long, love — it worries me.

He pushes her wet hair out of her face, gently running his hand down her cheek, which turns pink almost immediately after he touches it. He wants her to know that he sees these things: like the way she took off her necklace before stepping outside and the glistening drops of water that are balanced precariously on her eyelashes. Ironically, they look at lot like tears. He's never seen her cry out of happiness, but it definitely isn't something that he would put past her.

"I can hear the rain," he says, and he's so giddy, so unlike him, that she can't help but smile. "I even put on my glasses to watch it..." Closing his eyes, his voice is soft and faraway, and Olive can't help but notice that he has the same childish, eager air to him that she did when she was standing outside. It's not often that she gets to see him like this. Disregarding her still-wet hair, she kicks off her dirt-streaked shoes and throws her arms around his neck.

No matter how many times she hugs him spontaneously, he doesn't think he'll ever get used to it. Despite all his best efforts, his body still stiffens for an instant when she first wraps herself around him, but he recovers as quickly as he can before settling his own arms at their spot around her slight waist. He breathes in the warm smell that accompanies her, diluted and almost completely washed out by a not-unpleasant smell of rainwater. It still takes some time getting used to the feeling of having the privilege of such a kind, loving girl in his arms like this.

The sky grieves with a serene silence, pouring unheard words through beads of water dripping from its silver eyes.

It drips from the sky, trailing along the windows, and she's all but clapping her hands, eyes sparkling. "Isn't it great?" she laughs, twirling around, beads of water collecting on her arms. He eyes her carefully, and though he would normally remark sarcastically, there's a fragile beauty to her joy. "No... It's wonderful."