#author.thoughts

“Eh? It’s not stopping yet?” You ask your… friend. You’re not really quite sure if that’s the right term to refer to someone who you once thought just existed in a pretty shittily told story. But here you were, probably some time in the Pleistocene epoch or further back, with a fallen Angel you’re pretty sure is this world’s equivalent of Satan.

“Unfortunately not yet.” He replies to you softly, hands poised on his lap as he briefly peeks out of the tent to see the still turbulent storm outside.

It’s been two days of rain, and no signs of it stopping.

“Are you really that eager to get out?” He turns to you with a soft grin on his face, you shift from the heap of thick sheets and rugs that functioned as a bed, tucking more of yourself into the warmth and he almost laughs at the grouchy look you give.

You don’t notice Shikama get under the sheets beside you til you can feel him close to yourself, it’s weird, with him being warm. You always assumed he was cold before, like all vampires, but then he’s not really a vampire.

“The rain is too loud.” You reason, and it’s not entirely untrue either. “And it’s too *cold*.”

There’s not much for company aside from your friend and his dead son currently encased in a coffin right beside the bed— you know who this boy really is, but clearly his father doesn’t. You find it funny that this used to be such a reasonable child capable of thinking, then simply reduced to someone so *stupid*.

You don’t notice Shikama get under the sheets beside you til you can feel him close to yourself, it’s weird, with him being warm. You always assumed he was cold before, like all vampires, but then he’s not really a vampire.

“Do you feel somewhat better now?” He asks, nudging closer to you as the sound of rain and wind grew louder.

“Yeah, it’s.. a bit more bearable now.”