A/N/Disclaimer: I do not own Miss Eileen Galvin or Mister Henry Townshend, though I would very much enjoy tying up the latter of the two and keeping him in my closet as my pet. All places mentioned, such as North Ashfield, Silent Hill, and any other town in the games that I might have put in the fic and forgotten to mention here also do not belong to me. Hotel North Ashfield kind of belongs to me, as I created it due to the fact that there is a Hotel South Ashfield.

Title: Afterglow

Summary: After the events of the game, Henry and Eileen realize that they no longer are simply neighbours and survivors to each other.

Pairings: HenryxEileen

This plot bunny wouldn’t leave me alone. I just had to write it. It’s fluffy. It’s cute. It’s ridiculous. But I like it, or at least the idea of it. Feedback is nice!

It was a night without terror.

Normalcy reigned supreme in the silence of the sequestered hotel room, the curtains white and still upon the windows, the carpet boring and tasteless, the walls a sickly, cheap yellow. The television was on, murmuring a soap opera, its electronic light giving everything an almost angelic glow. The lamp on Henry’s side of the room was on, and he could see everything clearly, from the complimentary toothpastes and soaps scattered on the counter outside the bathroom to Eileen lying still in slumber on the bed on the other side of the nightstand. The sensation was consoling. Nothing was wrong.

Nothing was wrong, but he was not tired. The reason for his alertness was not at all aftershock of the earlier events, but instead simple insomnia. He had a prescription of sleeping pills back at the apartment, but there was no way in hell he was going back to get them. Oh no, he’d much rather stay awake. They were probably destroyed in the hole anyways.

A thin blonde on the soap opera was screaming at some very fake-looking blood coming out of the walls. Changing the channel to an infomercial on a cleaning product, Henry decided at once that he needed a cigarette. Ever the gentleman, he had chosen a non-smoking room for Eileen’s comfort, and now had to step outside to smoke. This wasn’t too bad, as the night was warm and still, so without complaint, he dressed and stepped out onto the balcony.

Things were normal here, too. The sight and the sound of traffic, the teenagers making out in the nearby playground, cars coming and leaving…it did well to remind him that everything was just fine here in North Ashfield Hotel. It had been Eileen’s suggestion to come here, and he was happy that she had. Fishing through his pockets for a moment, he produced a nearly empty package of cigarettes, lit up, and dragged. Just as he was exhaling the cloud of deathly chemicals, the balcony door slid open, and Eileen stepped out and stood next to him.

"Hi," she said.

He nodded in greeting, though he didn’t put out the cigarette. "Hey."

"I can’t sleep," she admitted. "I saw you were up too. If you want I can go back inside."

She was still in her pajamas. The red, green, and yellow striped pants were rolled down at the waistband to her hips, and the right strap of her black Story of the Year tank top was slipping off of her shoulder slightly. The ears of her bunny slippers flopped in the dirt of the balcony floor.

"No, don’t go back inside," he assured her. "It’s fine. You can stay."

She smiled. "All right."

He watched as she produced her own pack of Marlboros, removed one and lit it.

"You shouldn’t smoke," he teased. "It’s bad for you."

She laughed a little, then coughed a little.

"Blame my cousin," she told him. "I used to think she was so cool when I was little, I used to imitate everything she did."

"Did you?" he asked, taking another drag. "If I smoked, which I don’t, it would be my brother’s fault. He used to leave them burning and I got curious one day."

She raised a brow, grinning.

"Would have gotten curious one day, you mean?"

He chuckled. "Yeah."

The snogging teenagers had by now dispersed, and the parking lot was empty save for a man walking his dog around its perimeter. Henry put out his cigarette and leaned against the wooden rail, inhaling the scent of exhaust fumes and the foul stench of the nearby dumpsters. Not the most pleasant thing in the world, yes, but it was far better than blood or decomposing flesh.

"Hey, what do you do in your spare time?" Eileen inquired, putting out her own cigarette.

The question startled him. He turned his head towards her, raising a brow.

"W-what?" he asked.

She smiled gently, the kind of smile meant to reassure.

"What do you do for fun?" she rephrased.

Henry turned away from her, blushing slightly. He hated these clichés. It wasn’t at all because he was bitter or mean-spirited, no, not at all, he simply just didn’t easily communicate with women. It was why he lived alone and didn’t really haunt the local bars like most bachelors his age. Shyness and fear held his tongue with strangers, but Eileen wasn’t really a stranger.

"I like photography," he nearly mumbled. "I take pictures of nice places and scenery…stuff like that. I also bike. And cook."

"You cook?" she asked.

"I live alone," he reminded her.

"So do I," she told him. "I can’t cook. I tried to make pancakes for my mom once when I was fourteen and we had to call the fire department."

He actually smiled at that. "Really? Wow. It’s kind of hard to screw up pancakes, Eileen."

She laughed. "Was that a sense of humor, Henry?"

He shrugged.

"I guess. What do you do in your spare time?"

The question came out before he could stop it. He only regretted it for about 4.5376 seconds, however, because she actually started answering the question.

"I fly kites," she said without a single trace of shame. "Sometimes I babysit my little sisters and we all go down to the park. It’s fun. My mom says I have Peter Pan syndrome."

"What’s that?" he asked, quirking an eyebrow.

"Do you eat Fruit Loops while watching Invader Zim on Saturday mornings?"

"Sometimes."

"Then you have it too. It means you haven’t grown up yet."

"Oh. Is that bad?"

She smiled. He was suddenly stricken by how pretty she was when she smiled.

"Not at all. It means you’re not boring."

The sky was lightening. Henry guessed it was getting close to 5 AM.

"I worry about that a lot," he admitted.

She tilted her head slightly to one side.

"Worry about what?"

"That I’m boring."

She touched his hand. He simply stared at it for a moment, blinking uncertainly.

"You’re not boring, Henry," she assured him. "You’re sweet. And that’s rare these days."

Determinedly staring at her hand on his, refusing to meet her eyes, blushing furiously, he mumbled a "thank you".

"Am I making you uncomfortable?" she asked suddenly, and his head practically snapped upright.

"Not at all," he assured her. It was the truth. What was worrying him was himself. However, he moved his hand so he held hers. She leaned against his shoulder, and this time his smile was one of real pleasure.

"Thank you, Henry," she said, her voice drowsy with contentment. "For everything. I mean it."

"No problem," he replied.

And beneath the breaking dawn, before the empty parking lot, the both of them standing upon the balcony of North Ashfield Hotel, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her.