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He'd never been scared of storms.
Jessica had been the one who'd hated them. He remembers hearing her a few times when he was younger, her soft but fast footsteps running to his parents' room when the thunder boomed at night. He'd always felt left out and - even though he wasn't really scared - would run downstairs to join the rest of his family under the pretence that the lightning made everything in his room look ghostly.
His sister had grown up, but the storms never failed to steal her sleep. She was too old now to go to her parents' room because of some noisy clouds, so she'd sneak into Anthony's bed saying that she was there to protect him from the storm. He'd never corrected her - that he didn't need protecting, and that the steady drum of rain on the roof helped him sleep - because he enjoyed her warm body next to him.
She stopped when their parents died. Even he'd learned to hate the rain after they'd lost their lives in a car crash because of it. Every once in a while though, he'd sneak down to her room when the rain was too loud, knowing she'd be nervous.
"The thunder clouds are called cumi-columbus…," he'd struggled to say, lying next to Jessica and looking up at the ceiling.
"Cumulonimbus?" Jessica said, a small smile on her face.
"Yep, that," he'd nodded. "They look big and mean and loud, but they can't hurt you. I'll protect you."
Jessica laughed. "It's not your job to protect me, Ant. But thank you," she'd added before he could protest. "Now, where did you learn so much about clouds?"
He'd explained long into the night everything he'd read in the new book he'd gotten from the library about the weather. Jessica had patiently listened until he'd fallen asleep.
He missed nights like that. After Jessica had died, Lockwood had thought of storms with a weird nostalgia. He'd never grown to fear them, exactly, but he always felt a deep sadness whenever thunder rumbled in the distance. After a few more years, he'd stopped hating the rain as well. He found both peace, and pain in the drumbeat the droplets made against the window.
The weather was miserable. It had been raining nonstop for a few days now, and the first boom of thunder had sounded half an hour ago.
He heard footsteps come down the stairs towards the living room, then hesitate at the doorway.
"Oh, sorry, I didn't realise you were awake."
Lockwood looked up from his magazine to smile at Lucy. "It's alright. Did the storm wake you?"
She padded inside, sitting on the other end of the couch next to him. "Don't think I ever went to sleep."
"You looked ready to pass out at the kitchen table just an hour ago," he mused, putting his magazine aside for now. He didn't really care what he was reading, he'd just been trying to distract himself from his memories and the fact that even after all these years, a flash of lightning could make his heart hurt so much. "You're not scared of thunderstorms, are you?"
Lucy's silence and avoiding his gaze told him everything he needed to know. He raised an eyebrow and smirked. "The Great Lucy Carlyle, scared of some clouds," he teased.
She tossed a cushion at him. "Oh, shut up. And I suppose you love them? Makes things more exciting, does it?"
He thought about it. "Not really. I'm not particularly fond of the memories I have associated with them, but I've never minded storms themselves."
It was her turn to raise an eyebrow. "Oh?"
He considered telling her. There were so many similarities between his sister and Lucy it hurt sometimes. He had no doubt that if they'd ever met, they'd have gotten along swimmingly. But it wasn't to be, and he just sighed.
"You should go to bed, Luce. We have a busy day tomorrow, you need your sleep."
"I'd sleep better with a bedtime story," she quipped, glancing at him mischeviously.
He hated that she could do that to him. Give him that look with the wide brown eyes and made him question every decision he'd ever made in his life.
"Luce," he started, but she was stubborn.
"We can trade stories, if you'd like. I'll tell you why I'm scared of storms, and you tell me what they mean to you."
A clap of thunder outside, followed by a flash of lightning. He noticed how her eyes flicked nervously to the window behind him and he huffed in defeat, looking away.
"Fine," he gave in. "Come here." He held out his arm, and she shifted so she leaned into him, his arm wrapped around her.
"Jacobs made us go out one night when it was pouring rain," she started, settling her head against his shoulder. "We could barely see."
He listened patiently as she told him the story, gently squeezing her closer to him when she told him about what happened in the house. Once she was done, she looked up at him expectantly.
"Your turn now."
He breathed out a laugh. "Alright. Jessica, my sister, was always scared of thunderstorms…"
He was the storm, he'd come to realise.
He tried to be big and loud and scary, exciting, calming or violent. But all he really was under all of his acts was a cloud. Far from the pure, soft white ones, but a cloud nonetheless, one who'd had to hold in too much and just burst. Maybe he was a force of destruction, but maybe some people found a calm in all the chaos.
If he was the storm then Lucy was the rain.
Lucy was the rain who could calm him even though it hurt - reminders of his past, but also a promise of the future. She would be steady beside him, maybe a bit harsher sometimes, louder, but in the end, they stayed together.
He hadn't been able to protect Jessica from the storm. He wouldn't make the same mistake again.
He'd protect Lucy with all he had, because he loved her more than anything in this world or the next.
George came down the next morning, yawning. He'd gotten a good sleep last night, despite all the rain and thunder. He knew the science behind it all and he found it reassuring. Oddly enough, he hadn't heard Lockwood upstairs last night like he usually did when there was a storm, slipping into Jessica's room for some reason thinking that George didn't know.
George knew, but he just didn't care. He just hoped it wasn't because Lockwood hadn't been upstairs at all; the other boy could be quite rude when he didn't get any sleep.
As it turned out, on George's way to the kitchen, he found Lockwood. And Lucy too for that matter.
"Honestly, you two. Between the both of you, there are two bedrooms you can take and you still have to take up the sofa?" He scoffed, but neither teen gave any indication they heard him, still deep in sleep.
He sighed, rolling his eyes. "I'll just go make breakfast then. Don't complain if you don't get what you want."
And with that, he left the two there, curled up together on the couch, dreaming of each other.