Work Text:
There’s a storm rolling in. It’s going to be a big one. The wind is picking up, clouds gathering, thunder rumbling in the distance.
For once, Berkeley Square is almost deserted. No squabbling children in sight; no overworked parents; no adolescents in love; no cultural attachés winding down after a stressful meeting in St. James’s Park.
But the square is only almost deserted. In the garden stand two figures, seemingly undisturbed by the oncoming storm.
The dark of the pair has been waiting thousands of years to return an old favor. He’s not about to squander the opportunity now.
If anyone were watching, they might or might not notice that the umbrella the dark figure is opening did not appear to be in his hand a moment ago. It’s certainly there now, however — large, deep-canopied, patterned in black and white.
Its wielder raises the umbrella higher, over his companion’s head.
The light figure laughs — a low, delighted chuckle — and steps closer to the dark one, canopy covering them both.
It’s a dark and stormy day. But the couple stays in the garden for some time longer; the eye of the thunderstorm, huddled together beneath an umbrella, sheltered from the rain.