When Caleb surfaces from his book, it is raining. The sound of it rushes over the Lavish Chateau, a rhythmic beating against the building’s side. Something about it draws Caleb to set his book aside and stand; he wanders almost in a daze to the window. Outside, the pouring rain has washed away much of the color in Nicodranas, leaving it cloudy and grey. He watches as the wind makes patterns in the raindrops splashing to the ground.
A soft knock breaks him from his musings; he turns, expecting Veth or perhaps Beau or Fjord, but instead, it’s Yasha standing in the doorway. Caleb blinks, weirdly surprised, before he smiles at her, hesitant and a bit unsure.
She returns it slowly, just as uncertain. “It’s raining,” she says.
Caleb glances back over his shoulder. “It is, ja,” he agrees.
“Would you...would you like to go walk in it, with me?” Yasha asks carefully, like she’s afraid that Caleb will say no. Her fingers fiddle absentmindedly with one of the braids lining her cloak.
Caleb does not even have to think about it, which surprises him a little, but not in a bad way. “Of course.” He pauses then begins to toe his shoes off, grinning a little awkwardly up at Yasha. “I do not want them to get wet,” he explains. “It will be easier to go barefoot.”
Understanding dawns on Yasha’s face. “That is smart,” she agrees, leaning down to untie her own boots. “I was thinking of walking to the beach; I think the waves would be very pretty in the rain.”
Caleb hums. “Ja, that would be nice. Lead the way?”
Yasha nods. Caleb follows her down the stairs and out of the Chateau onto the rain-soaked streets. From here, Nicodranas is less muted by the rain; colorful buildings line their walk like something out of a painting. There aren’t many people out in weather like this, but they garner strange looks from those they do pass. It does not bother Caleb and he very much doubts that Yasha cares, either. They are both soaked minutes after leaving the Chateau, and though the rain is cold, it is not bothersome. It is windy enough that Caleb has to tie his hair back so it doesn’t paste itself to his face, but Yasha does not seem to notice or mind.
The beach is - unsurprisingly - abandoned when they arrive. The slate-grey ocean horizon stretches into dark, silvery mist. Closer, the waves crash and break against the shore in a soft, constant rush that Caleb is drawn to before he even remembers moving. The water is jarringly cold and he startles back for a moment. Yasha wanders into the surf - not too deep, just up to her ankles - seemingly uncaring that the ocean brushes the edge of her cloak each time it moves. Caleb steps up beside her, feeling oddly untethered to his body; he thinks he could lose himself in this, the rain and the ocean, if he wanted to.
“This is nice,” Yasha murmurs, her voice nearly lost to the sea.
Caleb allows a soft, free smile to curl against his lips; it feels much more comfortable there than it does usually. He tilts his head up, squinting at the dark clouds through the raindrops trailing down his face. It makes him feel very small, standing here like this, and he is almost surprised to find that he does not mind.
“It is,” he agrees. “It has been many— I have not done this in years.”
He does not think about the statement before it leaves his mouth, but after it’s gone the pain and nostalgia of it slam into his chest so hard that he can’t breathe. Long-lost memories rise to the forefront of his mind: every year during the first rain of spring, his mother and father would take him to the fields surrounding Blumenthal, where the verdant grass dotted was with baby-blue flowers, and they would dance in the rain, drunk on laughter; later, at Soltryce, before happiness was wiped from their minds by terrible loyalty, he and Astrid and Eodwulf would twirl in the rain together down the streets of Rexxentrum, giddy and without a care in the world for what anyone else thought of them. The sudden emptiness of it all burns in Caleb’s throat.
“I had not done this for fun until I met Molly,” Yasha says. When Caleb glances over at her, her eyes are distant and stormy; he would wonder what she is thinking about, but that old yearning tugs in his chest again and he thinks he knows. “It’s different when you’re travelling, I think. I’ve missed doing it just because I wanted to.”
What she does not say hangs between them, heavy and sodden with loss. Caleb swallows, almost but not quite startled to taste salt on his lips. He had not even realized he was crying, but that is the thing he likes most about the rain.
“I have missed it, too.”
He loses himself to the heavy rhythm of the rain and the soft rush of the ocean, drowning in bittersweet memories. Yasha turns and starts walking back after a while; she pats Caleb gently on the shoulder as she goes, breaking him from his reverie. It is a few minutes longer until he follows her, but she hasn’t gone far - simply up the beach, away from the water.
He settles beside her on the damp sand, watching the horizon and the dark, dancing clouds. Slowly, they lean against each other, like a natural erosion; soft fondness blooms in Caleb’s chest, chasing away the cold remnants of his nostalgia. He leans his head against Yasha’s shoulder; she is warm, despite the rain.
“I am glad you are back,” he admits.
“I’m glad, too,” she says, her voice rumbling softly against Caleb’s side. “I missed you all.”
They remain like this, one lonely and grief-filled body pressed in solidarity against another, for what could be hours. The tears once again sneak up on Caleb until he cannot stop them, his chest shaking helplessly against Yasha’s side. She cries too, Caleb thinks, but neither of them say anything. By the time the rain has lessened to a drizzle, dark clouds drifted out to sea, Caleb’s chest is empty and hollowed. The sensation is— surprisingly freeing, and he wonders if Yasha feels the same.
It is peaceful, sitting here with her, despite the cold rain that has soaked through his clothes.
Sometime in the second hour, Jester’s voice echoes in Caleb’s mind; he jumps, startling away from Yasha’s side. His gaze goes distant as he listens to Jester’s message.
“ Cay- leb, where are you? We’ve been looking everywhere for you and Yasha, but we can’t find you! Did you get lost or something? Oh, I—”
Caleb grins - a small, unpracticed thing - up at Yasha. “Hallo, Jester,” he replies. Yasha nods in understanding, quiet fondness blossoming on her face. “We are fine; we went down to the beach.” He does not say anything more and Jester doesn’t send another message.
Yasha sighs. “I suppose we should head back, then.”
Caleb hums. “Probably,” he agrees half-heartedly.
He does not stand and neither does Yasha. The rain lessens to nothing, though pale grey clouds remain to blanket the sky. They return slowly but easily to their earlier position, shoulders pressed together.
This is how the rest of the Nein find them a half-hour later; Caleb hears them before he sees them and he and Yasha share a fond look before moving apart. Yasha stands, absently brushing sand off her pants and cloak before offering a hand to Caleb. He takes it, stumbling a bit at her strength when she pulls him to his feet. She chuckles softly and he grins clumsily up at her.
They both turn just in time for Jester to slam into them, wrapping an arm around them each. Caleb grunts, floundering for a moment before awkwardly returning the hug, and beside him, Yasha does the same. They exchange the same, helpless look over Jester’s head.
“Ugh, you guys are super damp!” Jester exclaims when she lets them go. “We should have brought towels, huh? What were you guys doing out here in the rain?”
By now, the others have caught up. Beau catches Caleb’s eye, silently questioning and carefully concerned as always, but then Veth appears at his side to fuss. He looks down, thankful for the distraction.
“Why did you come here?” Veth asks, indignant disgust coating her words. Caleb chuckles and ruffles her hair, ignoring her half-hearted attempts to bat him away.
“It was peaceful,” he half-explains, shrugging.
“Peaceful,” Veth repeats, rolling her eyes. “It’s the ocean; it’s not peaceful, it wants to murder you!” Fjord chokes, caught halfway between amused dissent and agreement.
“Let’s get you back to the Chateau and into some dry clothes,” Caduceus interjects. “I’ll make some tea.”
“That sounds lovely, Caduceus, thank you,” Yasha agrees softly, allowing Jester to worry over her. To Yasha’s other side, Beau is fussing, too, though she tries to hide it. She is doing a very bad job of doing so, Caleb thinks, but he rather prefers being bruise-free, so he won’t say anything.
Veth grabs his hand and pulls him up the beach, back to the city. The rest of the Nein follow behind, comfortable and teasing chatter dancing between them all. There is a faint breeze and Caleb shivers; now that Yasha’s warmth isn’t pressed against his side, he realizes how cold and damp his clothes truly are. With the hand Veth isn’t holding, he pushes his hair out of his face, doing his best to squeeze some water out. It simply trickles down his spine and he shudders.
A warm cloak suddenly drapes itself over his shoulders and he jumps, nearly tripping over the too-long fabric. Fjord chuckles apologetically.
“Sorry,” he says; when Caleb looks at him, he rubs an awkward hand across the back of his neck. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”
“Oh— it is alright.” Caleb bundles the excess fabric up beneath his chin with his free hand. “Thank you, Fjord.”
He catches Yasha’s eye around Fjord’s shoulder. She smiles, soft and almost secretive, before turning back to Jester, who has looped her arms with both Yasha’s and Beau’s. Caleb smiles.
It is a good day.