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“I suppose the rain just makes me nostalgic,” Alvaar murmured offhandedly with the distant tone of a long off memory. It was enough to make both twins pause to listen, knowing how little the Warrior of Light spoke of himself or his past. In fact, the only way either learned anything about him was in these rare moments of out loud musing.
“Oh?” Alisaie prompted gently.
“It rains so much in Gridania. And the North Shroud would often gain a chill at night. We only had the one tent because it didn’t make sense to carry another…” the Bard had shut his eyes in concentration, brow furrowed as he once again tried to dig for details in the passing memory. To try and remember his mentors face as anything more than a shadow or smear of light…
“There was an outcropping we often used so Rook wouldn’t get wet. Wet chocobo feathers tend to get a smell you see, but it wasn’t quite big enough for all of us so we’d have to use the tent. We would curl up together for the heat and I’d wake up buried against her robes feeling warm and safe. I remember thinking it so strange at first… but I suppose that was the closest I felt it must be to having family. That sort of easy air in sharing space and touch platonically without expectation. … I think the rain makes me miss that sort of closeness. I think there… no, I know it. I know there was something important in that feeling. Something I had to be reminded of… an affection I need to know or I wouldn’t be who I am.”
He trails off and the twins share a curious glance but say nothing.
“…. Hm, in any case I suppose that’s enough of my rambling. What were we doing again?”
He sits on the couch in the study, listening to the slow patter of rain against the glass. It’s quiet and a touch chilly, almost a threat of sleet in that rainstorm as it passes through Mor Dhona. But there were no pressing matters and he’d just returned from another adventure so a nap wouldn’t be remiss.
It’s so much easier to sleep in these passing moments of day than it is at night… when his thoughts turn dark and grim and haunted…
He slips into a doze, ear twitching a few minutes later before he blinks his eyes open to see Alisaie drop to a seat beside him. He doesn’t recognize the cover of the tome in her hands but it’s likely from Urianger if he had to guess…
Before he can say anything, she leans against him, shoulder firm but not uncomfortable against his arm in her slight turn away from him. Using him for support over the back of the couch.
“Afternoon,” she offers in way of greeting, already flipping open to a page with such an easy air he feels too awkward to question it in his sleep addled state.
So he offers a soft hum in way of answer, and leaves it to ponder later. For now it’s still quiet and the rain still taps a gentle tune against the glass with the tick of the chronometer and occasional flip of parchment. He slips back into a doze with a soft sort of warmth against his arm and it almost feels familiar.
The patter of small paws rouses him again and he has enough time to dredge himself out of an almost proper nap before a snap of fabric fills the silence and he opens his eyes to see Alphinaud settling a throw blanket over them both. There’s a bright white glow of a moonstone carbuncle in his periphery before the fuzzy summon is crawling across his lap with a soft chirp.
A quiet huffy sigh leaves the Arcanist and Alvaar frees his arm to settle a hand into soft fur before Alphinaud can finish whatever he was considering.
“S’fine,” he grumbles on accident, clearing his throat softly and meeting Alphinaud’s eye briefly.
He can feel Alisaie had settled a bit firmer into him, head resting against his shoulder as she sleeps. He has a moment to be jealous of how easily the twins can sleep before Carbi is shifting to turn and stretching out across both their laps and nuzzling against his hand with a purr.
“Thanks,” he murmurs softly, already shutting his eyes and leaning back a bit firmer into the cushions.
It’s quiet, and warm, and the rain sings like a distant memory of yellow feathers and white robes…
And soon enough he hears the scratch of a quill adding to the scene and lulling him back to sleep.
He rouses a bit later as something shifts, feeling warm and a bit groggy and that’s unusual for one of his catnaps that he takes to stay alert. But Alisaie is leaned into his right arm and Alphinaud is settled into his left and the light weight of a summon is pressed across his lap.
It’s new but familiar. It’s warm and safe. It’s a steadying sort of feeling that he forgot he needed but there it is all the same.
And the rain continues to patter to the rhythm of a long-lost song and for a moment he can hear that soft wordless tune in a voice he’d almost forgotten. Feel gentle fingers stroking over his hair as raindrops hiss against treated fabric and the forest hums around him and for once he’s not worried about this noise or that. About who or what might lurk in that dark because it’s warm and safe and this woman is kind and he doesn’t want to lose this feeling. He wants to hoard it close forever and never let it go.
And he opens his eyes to the many books of the study. Listens to the tick of the clock, the distant murmur of the Scions, and the two sets of even breathing in stereo next to him. Feels the quiet press of contact against him on both sides, the gentle sort of shared heat nothing could replace. Something silent and nameless and important that eases some small part of heart and mind.
And he doesn’t want to lose this either.