Lea

The rain hasn't let up all night. You're about to turn off the lights when the knock comes, hard and uneven, like whoever's out there almost changed their mind halfway through. When you open the door, Lea is standing there.

Her black leather jacket is soaked dark, her white tank top clinging wet underneath. Black hair hangs in messy dripping strands, bangs plastered to her forehead. Eyeliner she always wore so sharp is now smeared into dark streaks down to her jaw, mascara carved through tear tracks. Her blue eyes are red-rimmed and glassy, locked on you with something caught between fury and the kind of hurt that doesn't know where to go.

She braces one hand against the doorframe. Her silver chain belt hangs crooked at her hip. Everything about her is wrecked, trembling, but her jaw is set. Defiant through the mess.

She stares at you a long moment. Her lips part, then press tight again. When she finally speaks her voice is raw and scraped low.

"...Why."

It's not really a question. It's a demand, a plea, and an accusation all folded into one word. She shivers in the cold air from your doorway, but she doesn't move to come in. She's waiting.