Or just the notion [Of a heart to wrap around so I can find my way around]

stillacrime used with permission and referring to the New York Storyline started/found here. Thanks to his mun for help with the Danny parts.

*Your muse is out running errands, or traveling, and finds themselves caught in a downpour with no raincoat or umbrella. How do they cope? Do they love it or hate it? Be as descriptive as possible, and by all means share how miserable they are if that's the case.*

Buffy doesn’t patrol with music and an ipod the way lots of the slayers do. Eva explained to her that someone named Abby on some movie called Sword or Blade or something she hasn’t seen yet made it cool. Instead she listens to the night, cats in the alley, sirens down the street and she hears the city breathe. New York is alive in a way that LA never seemed to be. It’s also undead in a way that she knows LA never has been. As in over run.

She’s already staked four vampires and is right in the middle of battling with a third when the sky opens up and unleashes its wrath. Rain is pouring down like a waterfall sluicing from a gutter. Her hair is plastered to her head, her baby blue sweater clings to her body and her high heeled boots are squeaking. This is possibly the most miserable Buffy has been in a long time. She was slightly cold before and now that she’s drenched to the skin she’s shivering.

Buffy hates the rain. It reminds her of things she’ll never have, heartbreak and death. It reminds her of cool hands on overheated skin and love so sharp it bleeds. She shoves the stake through the heart of her fifth vampire of the night then uncurls her fingers, letting it drop to the ground. With one hand she pushes wet hair out of her eyes and tilts her face up to the sky. That wound is open and it’s bleeding again. She wishes it would just heal already. Her breath shudders in her chest and she doesn’t want to be alone.

Running is faster; faster than a cab and faster than the subway. It makes her heart pound and that gaping wound doesn’t seem quite so deep when she’s running. Then she’s dripping at his door, breath come in little pants, heart hammering in her chest. She’s certain it is louder than her knock but either way it gets him to open up.

He looks confused at first then concerned, brow furrowing as he takes his glasses off and opens the door wider. She’s looking up at him with big eyes and trembling all over.

You’re shaking

C-cold

She steps into his apartment and already it’s warmer. “I hate the rain. I don’t want dry clothes and I don’t want to get underneath blankets. I just didn’t want to be alone.”

“Alright…” She thinks perhaps he’s more confused than he was when he let her in but he closes the door. She’s just standing in the middle of the floor dripping everywhere and then he’s behind her with a hand on her shoulder, thumb brushing against her shoulder blade exposed by the deep vee back of her sweater. She nearly melts back into him with a sigh, shivering abating for the moment.

“You’re warm,” she whispers, eyes closing as his hand slides over the curve of her neck, rubbing against the scar there and making her whimper. She can almost feel his grin as his arm slides around her shoulders and pulls her back against him. “I’m getting you all wet,” she warns him.

“Don’t care,” he assures her as he wraps himself around her and she thinks that maybe one day, she won’t always hate the rain.