The rain never seemed to end on those summer nights in New Hanover. The sun almost seemed imperceptible when hidden by overcast skies, the atmosphere leadened and the air musky with the scent of petrichor. It wasn’t so visible when nighttime fell the firmament above, the subtle misting of cold just enough to signal an eventual downpour on the cusp of surfacing.

In rapid succession, a crackle of thunder and the pitter-patter of rain pelted down from the sky, causing whoever had been outside in camp to scurry under cover like mice. Some people, however, weren’t so fortunate to have cover. That someone in particular being Kieran.

It took you a moment to recall the newfound member and ex-O’Driscoll-turned-Van-Der-Linde had nowhere to go, often left to hide beneath the weak canopy of pine trees and savor the warmth of the horses he was bonded to so closely. You had enough of a heart to know the treatment towards him wasn’t right nor justified.

It was almost pitiful, how you found him— obscured by his ratted trench coat and attempting to snuggle into a log beneath his back. A frown tugged at your mouth before you called his name, hoping he’d hear. He lifted his head slowly, seeming weary of your presence. “Yes?” He mused back, tucking himself further behind his coat.