Work Text:
Dungeons were always nice and quiet after a battle, and the Balacruf Mausoleum was no exception.
The Sylph sisters had been defeated, a mana-link had been severed, and the party had long since retired to their makeshift camp in the far corridor where the wind didn’t howl quite as loudly. But Raine, as always, couldn’t rest. Not when there was ancient architecture to study and questions to be answered. She slipped out the door under the guise of needing air, her blouse sticking slightly to her back where damp fabric met skin still flushed from exertion.
Outside, the skies were overcast and heavy, the scent of rain thick in the air. A storm was brewing, but she hoped she might steal just a few moments with the carvings along the outer wall– script etched into the stone like whispers from a bygone civilization.
She hadn’t made it far before she heard footsteps trailing her. Familiar ones. Light, deliberate, just a hair too close behind.
"Y’know, for someone who insisted we all go to bed early, you sure don’t practice what you preach."
“What do you want, Zelos?” She groaned, already annoyed by the fact that she’d been interrupted.
“I’m here on official business, Professor. Bodyguard duty.”
“That hardly seems necessary. We’ve already cleared the area.”
“Still. Can’t be too careful.” He sauntered up beside her, hands in the pockets of a lightweight navy jacket she didn’t remember ever seeing on him.
Raine arched a brow, eyeing his coat with something that bordered on envy– but pride was a stubborn thing. “Whatever you say.”
They drifted farther from the entrance, where the carvings grew denser and the air felt older somehow. Less eroded and almost defiant against time– like an artifact that made the past feel close enough to touch– were beautiful inscriptions that depicted the life and death of Cleo III, and how he was reborn as the king of the wind. She leaned in closer to get a better view in the darkness, one hand pressed lightly to the cold stone for balance.
Zelos didn’t speak. Not right away. She could feel him watching her with that rare kind of silence where he wasn’t performing, but rather existing beside her.
“You ever think about how old this place is?” he said after a moment, his voice quieter now, almost pensive. “Like, the kind of people who used to stand where we’re standing. What they prayed for and what they were afraid of.”
Raine blinked. She hadn’t expected that from him.
“Of course I do,” she murmured. “History doesn’t just disappear, even when the people do. It’s all still here, written in the stone.”
Thunder rumbled faintly in the distance as Zelos stepped closer, trying to make sense of the etchings she was admiring. “So, what do you think they’d say if they saw us now?”
“That we’re fools,” she replied dryly. “Disturbing their sacred ground.”
He huffed a laugh, shoving his hands deeper into his jacket pockets. “Can’t argue with that.”
The wind picked up, sudden and sharp, lifting strands of Raine’s hair and chilling her already cool body. She shivered once and tried to suppress it, but Zelos noticed.
Lightning flashed like a jagged scar across the sky, startling them both. Then came the sound, a deep, echoing crack that seemed to split the heavens open.
The rain didn’t fall gently; it pounded, as though the heavens had decided to empty themselves all at once. Raine yelped and darted back toward the mausoleum, the Chosen right on her heels. The overhanging stonework offered just enough shelter to shield them from the worst of it, though the storm was loud and aggressive, echoing against the building’s old bones.
She was soaked within seconds. Her shirt clung to her like a second skin, translucent in places, and the sleeves dripped icy water down her hands. She wrapped her arms around herself, teeth gritted against the onslaught.
“Damn, you’re freezing,” Zelos said, peeling off his jacket without hesitation.
“I’m fine.”
“Sure you are.” He stepped behind her, draping his coat over her shoulders with the attentiveness of a true gentleman, like it wasn’t the first time he’d given a girl his coat.
It was warm, and Raine hated the thought of admitting how good it felt. Or how good it smelled. Like cedarwood and a trace of campfire smoke, and maybe– just maybe– something unmistakably him. She swallowed hard. “…Thank you.”
Zelos only shrugged, but his expression was unreadable in the low light. “Don’t mention it.”
They stood still beneath the awning, his jacket heavy around her shoulders, the hem hitting her mid-thigh. Water dripped from the ends of her hair, plastering silver strands to her cheeks.
When she didn’t move or speak, he shifted beside her almost awkwardly, arms crossed to keep in whatever warmth he still had left. He was in nothing but thin pyjamas, the fabric already soaked and clinging to him like ivy.
“You’re going to catch a cold,” Raine said after a pause, eyes fixed straight ahead. Her voice was low but laced with something faintly scolding, perhaps in an attempt to reassert control.
He smiled, though it was a tired, crooked thing. “Me? Nah. I’m tough.” Rolling his shoulders, trying not to shiver, he continued, “Besides, I’ve survived worse than a little rain. Can’t have my favorite professor freezing to death on my watch.”
She didn’t answer right away, choosing instead to turn slightly, enough to glance at him from the corner of her eye.
He frowned. “You okay?”
“…I hate this kind of weather.”
There was something in the way she said it that shut the door to all teasing. He recognized the shift instantly, the way her arms tightened around herself, and how her breath slowed like she was steadying herself against something she didn’t really want to remember.
“I nearly drowned once,” she said quietly. “It was a storm like this. We were on a ship and I fell overboard. The water pulled me under before I even realized what was happening. I couldn’t see, couldn’t breathe. It was just cold and dark.”
Zelos’ expression softened, all traces of sarcasm gone.
“And then there was the night where my parents…” She stopped herself, exhaling shakily. “Ah, never mind.”
He didn’t push her. Just stepped a little closer.
“Come here,” he said, voice lower now, gentler.
She hesitated, but eventually let him guide her into his arms. He held her lightly at first, hands warm against the soaked jacket, until she leaned into him without quite meaning to. Her forehead came to rest against his shoulder, and he placed his chin lightly against the top of her head.
He could feel her breathing, slow and deliberate against his chest, like she was willing herself to relax one inhale at a time. Her hair was damp and clung to his skin, strands sticking in odd places, but he didn’t care. His own clothing was beyond saving at that point, the rain having soaked straight through it and the chill seeping into his bones.
Still, he didn’t let go.
“…I always thought you’d be the type to like storms,” he said quietly, the words spoken more to fill the space than to draw a response. “Y’know, like, nature in motion and power in chaos. That kind of thing.”
Raine let out a faint breath that could have been a laugh, or just a sigh with a memory tucked inside it. “There is beauty in it. But that doesn’t mean I particularly enjoy it.”
He nodded slowly. “Fair.”
They stood like that a moment longer, then, as if realizing just how close they were, Raine pulled away slightly. Her hand still rested against his chest, curled loosely in the damp fabric of his top as if she hadn’t decided to let go entirely.
“…You really are cold,” she murmured, finally noticing the way his skin had taken on a chill beneath her fingers.
Zelos offered a crooked smile. “Told you, I’m tough.”
“What you are is reckless,” she corrected softly. “But it’s fine, I’ll heal you if you get ill.”
Their eyes met briefly, long enough for something to pass between them. Not quite a confession, but the space between who they were and what they could be felt smaller somehow. As if, for just a moment, the rain had washed away everything else.
A distant rumble of thunder echoed overhead, gentler now. The worst of the downpour had begun to ease, rain falling in softer patterns like fingertips tapping across stone.
“…We should head back,” Raine said at last.
Zelos nodded, but didn’t move right away. “You can keep the coat until we’re inside.”
By the time they returned, the mausoleum was quiet, the walls humming faintly with the memory of wind but nothing more. Their footsteps echoed gently as they crossed back into the corridor where the team had made camp.
As expected, they were already fast asleep, and judging by the stillness, not even the storm had stirred them. Considering how loud it had been, this fact was nothing short of a miracle.
Raine slowed to a stop just before her bedroll and slipped Zelos’ coat from her shoulders.
“You’ll want this back,” she whispered, holding it out to him.
He took it gently, careful not to brush her fingers more than necessary. The fabric was still warm from her body heat, the collar faintly crumpled where it had pressed against her neck. The scent hit him before he even had a chance to think: parchment and herbs and something faintly floral.
“…Thanks,” he said, voice a touch rougher than it should’ve been.
Raine nodded once. “Good night, Zelos.”
“’Night, Professor.”
She didn’t look back as she settled into her sleeping bag.
He waited until she was lying down, her back to him, before grabbing a dry set of clothes from his pack and quietly slipping around the corner, just far enough to be out of view. There, in the half-dark, he paused and lifted the coat closer, fingers curling tightly into it like it was a lifeline. He pressed it to his face, eyes closing for a long moment.
“…I’m never washing this,” he whispered.