The scent of rain on pavement enters his lungs, easing his mind, unwinding the nerves that have wound up so tightly. Inhale on one, two, three. Exhale, two… four…. A numbing sensation creeps into his fingers, crawling through the tensed body. The crisp air nips at his skin, raising the light brown hairs, leaving goose bumps in its wake. He does not cringe at the bitter temperature, letting it lay upon him like a blanket. Fionn has never particularly liked the heat, so the cold has always been a welcomed change.
It’s the turning of the seasons, he recognizes, catching a glimpse of an almost bare tree out on the campus grounds. Beside it, a large tree desperately holding onto the remainder of its auburn leaves. But he catches himself wishing they would fall away completely. He thinks the tree looks like it is on fire, and the heat that courses his veins deepens even just as he thinks of the word.
Fionn shudders, creaking the window open an inch further with his toe, mentally thanking the gust of wind that follows. He hears the crackle and hiss of the fire that sits in the fireplace somewhere behind him. It has shrunk to a minute size since its high point earlier in the day. He wonders why no one thought to put it out before sleeping, he also wonders why he has let it continue to flourish despite his evident disdain for the heat. But the sound of its fight with the threatening cold air chills his heart and makes it swelter just a tiny bit. It’s really the unlikely things that get him most — like imagining that the fire and the wind are fighting for survival. He often imagines he could live with no companions just solely on the fact that he never feels alone when the world is working in her mysterious and alluring ways.
It’s been too hot lately, and the unfamiliar yet oh so familiar scent of rain woke him prematurely from his slumber, his lazy body now draped upon an arm chair faced towards the window to give him a good view of the castle. The rest of the Ravenclaw students are fast asleep in their cozy beds, haphazardly strewn across them after the more tumultuous hours of slumber. Fionn hadn’t been too despaired to roll out of his own even despite hearing the soft snores from his mate next to him. He liked the castle most when everyone else didn’t seem to exist; when the only life around him flickered lazily in the fire place or in the song birds that whistled their chipper tunes.
The end of autumn had been surprisingly warm and he was beginning to feel the aching in his bones that pleaded for a crisp evening under a violet sky instead of those bright fire stained sunsets. So the changing of the tides tickles his fancies and leaves him feeling smug as he bids farewell to the summer. The rain makes everything smell fresh, and it makes his mind completely stop for a few moments.
Wild flowers and citrus.
He knows that smell anywhere. Even around the thickest of spices, the sweet and tangy scent seems always to overwhelm. His eyes squeeze shut and he tries his best to play dead, or asleep, or anything really. The scent sticks to the inside of his nostrils and he tries not to gag on it. It would be a nice scent if it wasn’t so strong, so forced.
A slightly exaggerated oof escapes his mouth as the girl drops her body upon his own. He wonders if people really think he likes them enough for them to act this way around him. Mentally jotting a note to himself about trying to come off more cold than normal, he takes a few moments to process his reaction to her literal dropping in on him.
“You looked cold, I thought you could use some warmth,” she speaks, her voice a melody much like that of a song bird, but much less welcomed. He grunts and she chuckles, obviously passing it off as just another Fionn thing to do.
For someone who claims to be such a good friend, it strikes him as odd that she’s not keen enough to know that he hates the heat, much less the presence of someone else in his alone time. His nerves begin to knot once more, the muscles in his poorly toned and boyish body tensing uncomfortably. He mutters an incoherent and inaudible retort, likely protesting against the body pressing down on his own. She’s by no means large, but he wants nothing more than to feel the tingly cold air hugging him instead of some annoying girl.
But she’s not just some annoying girl. She’s his annoying girl. And he never likes to admit it, but the scent of her obnoxiously sweet hair products make his senses tingle as much as the cold air is want to do. Fionn is exceptionally savvy at making himself believe falsehoods that he creates to appease the Scrooge in himself. And while there is a part of him that tugs his lips into a smile at his friends’ presences, it’s that larger part of him that says never get too excited, they’ll eat it up. He just can’t please people like that, he’d rather please himself.
The girl partially lifts herself from him, looking down at Fionn with her tired but bright eyes. “I’ve got some books to grab from the library, I’ll be back later,” she informs her ever inattentive friend. His shrug and quiet mumble seem enough of a response and she leaves him to his reverie.
The tireless wind sweeps her scent away with her, and the fresh air permeates once again, but the nerves do not float away on the air with her. His hands grip the arm chair and he squeezes his eyes shut, fighting off the thoughts that encourage him to trail his friend and her sweet scent. Because despite the wind and the fire, and the birds that chirp so melodically, Fionn knows that he needs other people and not just himself. But this will forever leave a bad taste in his mouth, because what he wants and what he needs are at odds and mum never had a salve for this kind of problem.