𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐂𝐊𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐄 chapter twenty-five; Have You Ever Seen The Rain " That the best thing for her was to grow up without you. "
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ROMAN MAYES HATED the rain. There was no deeper meaning to this. He'd hated it as a child, when his friends invited him to splash in puddle-ridden streets, Roman would stoically stomp with galoshes for a short span of five minutes returning to the warmth of his home. And now, standing on the front porch of Elizabeth Gerard's house, he hated it a little bit more.
A water droplet from his hair snuck down the back of his spine, cheating the jacket he'd spelled to repel water. He should've spelled his hair. Or perhaps carried an umbrella. This is what normal people with a distaste for precipitation did. This is not what Roman did.
His red curls were flat to his head, drenched from rain, with a perfectly dry jacket and slacks, and he was refusing to knock.
Now, Roman took pride in his bravery. His risk. Confidence. But Gerard women easily smothered this. They rendered it useless.
But he hadn't seen her yet, so he let a long breath out, and knocked quickly on the faded blue door. Roman wondered if the door was like this when Elizabeth bought the house, or if she'd taken it upon herself to paint it baby blue in a pair of cuffed jeans covered in paint splatters.
"Coming!" A voice rang inside, following by the quick pattering of bare feet on hardwood floors, before the blue paint was torn away from Roman all at once.
Elizabeth was beautiful. She always had been, but it hit Roman in the face as her features melted into shock. Her hair was still blonde, a darker shade now with far more length. She still had poised features, high cheekbones and pointed eyebrows, eyes that could pierce even the thickest armor.
"Roman."
"Hey, Lizzie," Roman laughed nervously, reaching up to scratch his neck and cringing at the weight of the water.
"Come inside," She sighed, as if no time had passed and she still knew about his hatred of the rain, closing the door behind him quickly, "Your hair. . ."
"It's fine," Roman disregarded, the reason he'd shown up washing away any and all thoughts of the past, "I have a bone to pick with you."
⥊
Salem was starting to panic about NEWTs. April was coming to a close, as was the judgment on her studies. Because now, with just shy two months until the dreaded tests, the library was bustling and stress was spreading.
But Salem had been doing this since seventh year began, so she had extra time for the unique kind of anxiety that consumed her.
"You're stressing for no reason, Sal, you're going to get the highest marks out of all of us."
