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If there had been any benefit to storms, it would be that nobody came to bother Fen. Sure, the thunder could be annoying when it broke his focus while he was reading, and the one time he’d left a window open without realizing it was probably the worst day in recent memory, but overall, storms provided some nice peace and solitude, and Fen was more than ready to enjoy that. So, really, he couldn't be blamed for ignoring the less likable parts of storms, like his door rattling during the current one. It was probably just the wind, anyways—the storm was nasty tonight, and he could see how violently the trees were swaying when the flashes of lightning would illuminate the forest. He could even hear some wayward branches and twigs hitting his roof that had likely been ripped right off the trees by the brutal wind. Nobody in their right mind would be outside in those conditions, and although he could hear some plates rattling with every branch that hit his roof, he had no intentions of checking the damages now. No, Fen would just enjoy his tea and the blissful solitude and not worry about anything his patron might want from him or missing roof shingles.
Or rather, that had been the plan, and it would’ve been perfectly executed had the kitchen window not loudly flown open, forcing Fen to his feet and sprinting to the kitchen just in time to see Echo, soaking wet, throwing herself through the window and directly into the sink with a crash.
They could only stand frozen in shock for a few moments before Echo attempted to drag herself the rest of the way through the window and they had to scramble to keep their mugs safe from her flailing legs, cursing the entire way. He managed to swipe the delicate dishes to the side as she crashed to the kitchen floor, slamming the window shut and making sure it was locked this time. There was a beat of silence as they both regained their bearings, only broken by the sound of a very soaked Echo peeling herself off of the hardwood. Fen put his face in his hands, listening to her boots squelch.
“What are you doing?”
“Getting up, duh.” Echo panted. They groaned.
“What are you doing breaking into my kitchen?”
“You weren’t answering the door!” She waved her hands in annoyance as he scowled. “What else was I supposed to do!”
“Leave me be?” She gave him a look and he corrected himself, knowing she’d never do that so easily. “Fine, knock louder?”
“As if you’d open up in this weather,” she grumbled. Fen sighed, watching her hop to her feet and begin pacing around. Her boots were making horrible squeaking sounds with every step that made his eye twitch, and every curl of her wild hair was weighed down with rain water, dripping into countless puddles on the floor. And the table. And the chairs.
“Echo– hey, not on the rug!”
“I am nowhere near the rug!” She said, moving away from it anyways. Fen recoiled as the action brought her closer to them. “And where are you going?”
“Away from you, so you don’t get my sweater wet!” They dodged a shower of drops as she tossed her hair out of her face. “Gods, stop dripping everywhere!”
“Oh, please, it’s fine!”
“Not my cushions, Echo– no, no, no, don’t grab my sleeve, I’m going to be wet!”
“You’ll be damp at worst!”
“No, I’ll be soaked! Like you! What is wrong with you today?”
And maybe he had been a little more abrasive than he’d meant to be, because her response was a surprisingly firm “nothing.” Maybe he’d been a lot more abrasive than he’d meant to be, because Echo was actually giving him a scowl. Fen was sure he’d made Echo feel more than her fair share of frustration before (which he maintained was revenge for how much of a nuisance she’d been to him when they’d first met), but an angry Echo was an entirely new beast. He took a deep breath and one more step backwards, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. Echo stood defiantly in the middle of the room, still dripping and shaking slightly in every limb as she scanned him carefully. Fen did the same to her, the uneasy feeling looming over him growing with every moment of her uncharacteristic behaviour. Her brows were tightly knit together, her entire body was tense, and as yet another gust of wind blew something against the side of the house, he watched her jaw clench tighter.
“Are you okay?” He risked asking. She straightened further, drawing herself to her full (albeit short) height.
“Fine, and you?”
Fen raised a brow. “Y’know, Airhead, given you came crashing through my window, I sort of doubt that.”
“Answer the question.” She said. Both of Fen’s eyebrows were now raised as he looked at her. She stood, trembling, expression firm. It felt, impossibly, like their roles had switched—as if, for once, she was the one masking. Slowly, he nodded.
“...well, likewise, I guess. I was actually just getting up to make a fresh pot of tea.”
“Oh, don’t tell me it’s that terrible bitter gunk you usually drink,” she sighed, and there was some of the Echo he knew. That was enough of a good sign to tell them they were on the right track, and they latched onto it mentally.
“If I were to make… I dunno, jasmine, would that be enough to make you not complain about how sinfully I treat my tastebuds?”
“I will relish in my victory, in fact, because the way you decide to use your free will to subject your mouth to horrendous flavours is a crime and someone needs to state that.”
“Oh my gods, whatever,” he huffed, but secretly, he was fighting a smile. It was difficult, admittedly, even considering the circumstances, and he had to yank his sweater up and over his head to ensure his mask wouldn’t be caught slipping. Echo’s confused (concerned) expression was covered by that same sweater being thrown at her face a moment later. Fen elected to turn and stride towards the kitchen instead of relishing in her offended squawk. “Stick your hair in that until I get back with an actual towel.”
“You just wanted to throw something at me,” she grumbled, but he knew she’d listen anyway.
As the tea finished steeping, Fen heavily considered their situation.
Echo was a nuisance in part due to her unflinching positivity. Every problem could be solved, in her eyes. Every little moment was meant to be savoured. Everything was met with the same amount of energy and passion, no matter what the situation was. At the same time, Echo was wildly observant and they’d never seen her miss even the slightest hint that someone or something was off. Throughout it all, she rarely let her smile fall. Fen had never heard her really, truly rant about something like they did, much less be annoyed, much less be angry. Dealing with her now felt like handling a live explosive. What would set her off?
They heard her shifting in the living room, hopefully still in the towels they’d provided for her (they couldn’t even be too mad about the upholstery, at this point in the mystery) and pursed their lips. Only one way to find out.
Echo looked up a little too fast for Fen to believe she was actually calm when he walked back to the living room, but he politely elected not to comment on it. She was way less hyper now than she had been, and even accepted the tea without an overly dramatic expression of agony, and he’d be damned if he wasted that opportunity. For a while, they sat in silence. Fen eventually found his place on a chair opposite Echo's spot on the couch, watching her take cautious sips from her mug as she stared blankly forward. She was slouching, the towel just barely hanging onto her head as her now frizzy mass of hair did its best to escape. With every rattle of the windowpanes or flicker of lightning, her eyes would dart to the storm outside as if searching. There were dark circles under her eyes, actually, which he’d regrettably failed to notice until now. Her shoulders were hunched awkwardly, looking nearly painfully tense. Even now—even after negotiating her into sitting down for his sake—she looked just about ready to jump at him and… do something. He couldn’t even fathom what he might’ve done to warrant all of this, or if it was his fault at all, for that matter.
“…tea okay?” He risked asking. She scoffed.
“Better than what you generally drink, for sure. I should come over more often to make sure you’re not torturing yourself on the regular.”
“You already come into my house randomly, unannounced, constantly.”
“Exactly!” She smiled innocently at him and he couldn’t help but to snicker. “Who else to take care of you if not me, hmm?”
“Myyyyyself? Because I am an adult?”
“Your favourite hobbies are sticking your nose into other people’s business and living miserably, Fen. Anybody but you is qualified for the role, actually.”
“Can’t believe you’re insulting me and I’m still giving you tea and snacks.”
“Are there snacks?” She gasped. Fen dropped his face into his hand, listening to her laugh. “You’re so easy to annoy.”
“You’re good at being annoying,” he grumbled, and was horrified at the realization that they’d reached the point in their friendship that he didn’t mean it anymore when he said that. Echo, when he peeked through his fingers, was sipping her tea and looking self-satisfied. Evidently she knew as well. Still, even as her smile remained carefree, her posture was tense. He chewed on his lip contemplatively. “So now that we’re both feeling nicer…”
“I’m always a ray of sunshine, I don’t know what you mean!”
“Mhm… so do you wanna tell me what’s really wrong with you?”
The room fell silent, Echo evidently taking advantage of her drink to not talk. Fen looked at her, unflinching, watching for any little sign that could reveal what had set her off. “You know I can tell when you’re lying to me.”
“I never lie to you,” she said softly. He tilted his head back and forth in a so-so motion.
“You sometimes do, but only for my benefit.” Countless times he’d been too abrasive, snapped too angrily, or said something that cut too deep, and Echo had pretended it rolled off of her like water on a duck’s back. He could tell when it hurt her, though. He’d always been a bit too ashamed to ever apologize directly in the moment. “But this time isn’t that, so…”
“I was just worried for you, what with the storm.” That wasn’t the whole truth, but it was closer to it. “I mean, your house isn’t exactly the sturdiest, you know.”
“Better than camping out there with you,” he tried to joke. She nodded absentmindedly.
“That it is.” The silence was somehow all the more awkward when it returned. Fen persevered, hoping he’d get something more from her. “I’ve weathered some pretty bad ones in my time.”
“You’re always travelling, so I can imagine.”
“Really bad,” she repeated distantly. The look in her eyes made his brows furrow. Well, maybe he really wasn’t at fault for her foul mood after all. “I’m glad you were inside.”
“I wouldn’t be caught dead in this weather,” he grumbled.
“If you were fixated on your research again…”
“Echo, I wouldn’t,” he sighed. “I like the rain but only when I’m inside listening to it.”
“You’re fairly stubborn about all your other decisions—“
“I would never want to worry you like that,” they said firmly. Echo blinked slowly, her gaze still distant. Selfishly, they felt grateful that she couldn’t see how being so up front about their concern bothered them. Equally as selfishly, they wished she would look at them and see how much they cared outwardly for once, the nagging fear that she thinks I don’t care about her slowly invading the quieter corners of their mind. “…how about you stay the night.”
“Fen, if you think I’m going back outside in that…”
“Good, then maybe you’re smarter than you thought I’d be,” they scowled—and immediately regretted, because where was that outward show of care they were just thinking about? But Echo must’ve been numb to it by this point (and what a terrible thought that was) because she barely even blinked, just stared out the window at the unyielding storm. “I’ll set up, um, a… a cot for you.”
“‘Kay,” she said softly, and Fen got up awkwardly and wandered off to stew in their turmoil while getting extra sheets. Despite their own impressive insightfulness, the feeling that they weren’t going to be able to reach Echo weighed heavily on them. It wasn’t their fault she was acting so out of character, but… maybe it was their fault that they’d never considered a situation like this to even be a possibility.
Tomorrow would be a new day. They could only hope it would bring upon a new clue as to how to reach a woman who never let herself be seen weakened.