He had always had the most interesting eyes—red over both iris', glowing faintly.

Standing in the doorway, the porch light outlined his form, but it didn't soften the tension in his shoulders. His sweater was dry and warm looking.

You shivered as the rain clung to you like a second skin.

"It's you," he said over the patter of rain, like a question.

"It's me," you sighed.