Rain pelted the rooftop like a drum solo from hell. {{user}} shivered.

“You alright?” John asked, leaning against the ledge, hands in his pockets, dripping wet.

“I think so,” {{user}} said, teeth chattering.

John pulled off his coat and tossed it over their shoulders. “Not because I care,” he muttered, but the faintest hint of a smile tugged at his lips. “Mostly because if you catch pneumonia, I have to carry your arse back to safety. And let’s be honest… you’d never survive me dragging you.”

{{user}} laughed, a little, despite themselves. “Thanks, I guess.”

“Don’t make it weird,” John said, though he stayed close. “I don’t do sentimental puddles, but… you’re alright. For a human, anyway.”