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The abbey creaked differently in winter.
In summer the stone walls breathed heat back at you, radiating it through the dorm halls until every ghoul padded barefoot and restless, sweat sticking to their uniforms and tails twitching against their calves. But when the winds shifted and the first snow dusted the garden paths, the place changed. The walls stopped breathing out and started breathing in. The cold sank into the rock, then into the wood, then into the bodies inside it, until you could swear it was leeching warmth right out of your bones.
Rain hadn’t noticed at first.
He’d only been on the surface since spring, and spring had been a kind, forgiving thing — air that smelled like wet earth, sun that didn’t burn, cool nights where it felt good to curl up beside Cirrus or against Mountain’s side. Summer had been harsher, blinding and heavy, but tolerable. There was a rhythm to it.
Winter had no rhythm. Just slow, creeping exhaustion.
At first, it was little things: how it took him longer to drag himself out of bed in the mornings, and how his joints ached faintly, stiff when he stretched, and how he dozed off earlier in the evenings, tail curled tight around him before anyone else had even thought about retiring.
Nothing worth speaking up about. Nothing he couldn’t excuse as adjustment, or maybe just the way the sun seemed to vanish earlier each night.
He followed what the others did. The Siblings of Sin passed out heavier blankets for the dormitories, and Rain took his without complaint. He layered underclothes beneath his uniform when he saw the others doing it. He accepted the wool coat that was shoved into his arms after practice, even though it only seemed to trap the chill closer to his skin rather than fight it.
It helped a little. Or at least, it helped enough that no one asked questions.
In the evenings, when the pack had a rare hour to themselves in the common room, Rain listened more than he spoke. Cirrus would hum absentmindedly as she mended a shirt or braided her hair. Aether and Mountain would bicker softly over the logistics of wood supply versus how much they should just “borrow” from the chapel’s store. Dew sprawled on the hearth rug like a cat who owned the fire outright, claws flexing against the weave when anyone came too close to his patch of heat.
Rain sat with them, but not too close. Close enough to belong, not enough to intrude.
Sometimes he’d catch Mountain watching him from across the room, expression unreadable, and then a large, heavy paw would nudge a cushion closer to the fire as if by accident. Rain took it without a word, grateful for the small mercy.
He was trying. He wanted them to see that. Trying to laugh at Dew’s sharp jokes, to nod along when Cirrus offered him little comforts, to meet Aether’s eyes without flinching at the unnerving weight of them. He wanted to prove that he belonged here, that he could carry his weight.
But when his limbs felt heavy and his eyelids started to droop, it was easier to slip away quietly than admit he couldn’t keep up. He’d murmur something about chores in the morning, or just vanish when the others were distracted. By the time anyone noticed, he was already in bed, tail wrapped tight, coat still on over his uniform for what little warmth it provided.
Sometimes, in those moments between sleep and waking, he thought about asking Dew.
The Fire ghoul burned like a forge even when he wasn’t trying — a walking sun. Rain caught himself drifting closer without meaning to, like a moth. But every time the urge rose to say something — to ask how he’d survived his first winters, or to just stay near long enough to feel warm — the words died in his throat. Dew didn’t need the reminder of what he’d lost. Rain wasn’t about to dig up old wounds just to soothe his own.
So he said nothing. He curled tighter into his coats, tucked his aching joints under blankets that didn’t help, and told himself he’d get used to it. Everyone did, eventually.
The days shortened fast. Rain wasn’t ready for how sudden it was — how the sun seemed to vanish earlier each night until afternoon felt like dusk and morning like night that never ended.
He woke late, dragged himself through chores, and still felt like he hadn’t slept at all. His skin ached where the cold got in past coat and gloves. Even his tail felt stiff, curling awkwardly when he tried to tuck it into his trousers.
The others noticed, but only in passing.
Cirrus glanced at him once, lips parting as though to speak, when she found him asleep in the common room with his half-finished knitting pooled across his lap. But Mountain chose that moment to split a log with a crack like thunder, and she let the moment go.
At practice, Dew’s head whipped around when Rain’s bassline slipped half a beat late. Just once, just barely. Dew’s mouth opened — sharp, ready — then closed again, frown cutting his features as he turned back to his own fretboard.
Even Aether lingered after rehearsal, pale eyes catching Rain as he packed away his instrument with mechanical care. “Your tempo drifts,” he said finally. Not judgment, just fact. Rain forced a smile, muttered something about being tired, and left before the silence could grow teeth.
The Siblings of Sin were less merciful.
“Laziness,” one muttered when he scrubbed the chalices too slow.
“Ungrateful,” another hissed when he lingered sweeping the nave.
They carried their complaints upward, as they always did, and Papa called him in.
The office smelled of wax and incense, the heavy scent made sharper by cold wind rattling the windowpanes. Papa sat behind his desk, smudged paint stark on tired skin, eyes sharp in the half-light.
“You’ve been flagged,” he said, flat as a gavel. “Tell me why.”
Rain shifted on his feet, claws worrying at the hem of his coat. “I’m just tired, Papa. The dark… I didn’t know it would be like this, losing the sun so fast. I’ll adjust.”
Papa leaned back, studying him too closely. “Your color’s off. And your breathing—shallow. You don’t notice it, but I do.”
Guilt pressed hard against Rain’s ribs. The man was already pulled thin by Clergy demands, endless rehearsals, the weight of a tour cycle. He didn’t need one ghoul burdening him further.
“I’ll be fine,” Rain said softly. “Really. I just miss the sun.”
Papa let the silence drag until Rain squirmed. At last, he sighed, eyes narrowing with worry that didn’t soften. “My door is open. Don’t let pride cost you more than you can afford, Rain.”
“Yes, Papa,” he murmured, bowing his head.
The pack saw him fade, little by little.
He left dinners early, or skipped them altogether with the excuse that he was too tired and would eat later, even though the plates they left at his door went untouched and cold. His coats seemed to grow heavier on his shoulders as his frame leaned thinner. His laughter thinned. The spark in his voice dulled.
But he smiled when Cirrus teased, nodded dutifully at Mountain’s nudges, chuckled faintly when Dew’s sharp tongue landed a barb.
And that was enough — enough to let them think he was fine. Enough to let them feel comfortable turning back to their chores and schedules and the endless grind of preparation because everyone’s first winter was hard, after all.
Rain kept smiling for them. Because what was worse than being cold, or tired, or aching all over?
Being seen as weak.
Every motion was sluggish, delayed. His chest ached in stuttering jolts, his breath came thin and shallow. It was like trying to move through water too cold to swim in — every instinct urging him to curl smaller, to stop moving, to sink.
The abbey’s stone walls seemed to bleed cold straight into his bones. Even layered in coats, his skin was always raw with chill. His tail curled tighter and tighter, instinct grasping for warmth he couldn’t hold.
Just a shower, he told himself. Then a nap. Then practice.
The pipes groaned, and water spat out lukewarm at best. To him, it scalded. Every drop seared against his skin like acid springs in Hell. He hissed, pressed on, claws clumsy with soap. His arms wouldn’t bend quite right, joints stiff and sore, like the wrong pieces had been fitted together.
By the time he stumbled back to his room, breath ragged, he could barely see straight. The blanket over him did nothing. His eyes fluttered half-shut, half-open, but everything blurred.
The glamour slipped. He felt it peel away like a skin, exposing gills, fins, claws. He didn’t care enough to hold it anymore. His body curled tighter and tighter, tail wrapping around him, muscles stiff but breath shallow, thready.
He was asleep — or something close enough for his tastes — before his head hit the pillow. The last thing he noticed was the way the cold didn’t bite so much anymore. It was quiet, almost gentle, pulling him under.
Cirrus was the one sent to fetch him when he didn’t show for rehearsal.
Dew had grown impatient, Mountain uneasy. Aether had raised a brow but said nothing. So Cirrus sighed, brushed off her skirts, and padded down the hall to knock on Rain’s door.
“Rain? You’ll make Dew combust if you don’t hurry,” she teased, voice sing-song.
Silence.
She tried again. Louder this time. Waited. Nothing.
Her frown deepened. She pressed the latch. The door opened.
He was right where he’d fallen, cocooned under blankets, tail poking out stiffly from the edge of the bed. At first glance, it looked like sleep — too deep, maybe, but not unusual. She smiled, shaking her head, stepped forward, tugged the covers back.
Her breath caught.
His skin was ice under her hand. Not cool — frozen. His body stiff, curled so tightly it looked painful. His breathing shallow, uneven. His eyes open just enough to show the glaze over them.
And his glamour was gone. His gills flared faintly with each struggling breath. His claws were drawn tight into his own palms.
“Rain?” Her voice broke. No answer.
For one awful moment she froze. Then she dropped the blanket, bolted from the room, panic propelling her feet hard against stone.
She burst into rehearsal, half-sobbing, eyes wild. “Rain—he—” her voice cracked, “he’s not waking up—he’s cold—he’s not—”
Her claws seized Aether’s sleeve, dragging, desperate. He resisted, steady and immovable, locking her frantic gaze.
“Cirrus, breathe,” he said sharply, voice slicing through her panic. “Tell me.”
She stammered it out — cold, stiff, shallow breaths, his glamour gone.
The pack froze.
And in that silence, the truth slammed home.
Rain was a Water ghoul. This was his first winter. And they had all been too busy, too distracted, too thoughtless to remember what that meant.
Dew went white as bone, nausea twisting his features. He knew. He had lived it. And he hadn’t said a word.
The next moment shattered into chaos.
Dew surged for the door, fire already burning in his palms. Aether yanked him back by the collar, near-shouting: “Stop! Too much heat will kill him!”
Mountain rose to his feet like thunder, the others close behind. The room emptied in a flurry — Mountain and Cumulus racing ahead for blankets, Cirrus on Dew’s heels, Aether already calling Omega with clipped urgency.
They spilled into Rain’s room together, the air heavy with fear.
Rain hadn’t moved. He looked more corpse than living thing, skin pale, breath threadbare.
Dew struggled against Mountain’s grip, desperate to reach him. “Please, I can help—”
“No!” Aether’s voice cracked sharp, carrying over the room. His hands skimmed Rain’s body with quintessence magic, his face tightening. “His temperature’s too low. You shock him now, his heart won’t survive it.”
The words hung heavy.
For one awful beat, the pack stared down at Rain — and saw not their packmate, not their sibling, but death creeping in under their own neglect.
Then Aether snapped them back.
“We need to get him to the infirmary.” Aether’s voice clipped, urgent. “Wrap him. Thickest blanket you can find. Don’t touch his skin directly. Move.”
Orders broke the paralysis. Mountain’s massive hands were suddenly steady, gathering cloth.
“Cirrus,” Aether snapped, already turning. “Take Dew. Find Papa. Tell him exactly what you told me.”
She hesitated, eyes darting to Rain’s door down the hall, then to Dew’s stricken face. Dew shook in her grip, caught between fury and terror, fire licking his palms uselessly.
She swallowed hard, nodded, and dragged him after her.
Aether ran ahead, already calling Omega.
Behind them, the hall was heavy with the weight of a single thought: they had let Rain freeze under their own roof.
They weren’t allowed inside.
The infirmary door shut with a heavy thud, and that was it. Rain vanished behind it with Aether and Omega, swallowed into bright lamplight and clipped voices.
Mountain reemerged a few minutes later, shoulders squared but eyes shadowed. He lowered himself onto the bench beside the others, too big for the space, his weight bowing the wood. “They’ve got him,” he said, voice steady by force. “Nothing more we can do right now.”
It should have been reassuring. It wasn’t.
Dew paced the length of the hallway, claws clicking against stone. He kept swinging back to the door like he might force it open. Cirrus and Cumulus sat side by side, hunched forward, hands clasped tight. Mountain just watched them, elbows braced on his knees, jaw flexing.
Every time footsteps passed at the far end of the corridor, all of them jerked their heads up, hope rising sharp and falling harder when no one came.
“What are they doing?” Dew muttered, voice sharp, too loud in the empty hallway. “They’ve been in there too long. They should—”
“They’re helping him,” Cirrus said. She wanted it to sound confident. It came out cracked.
Dew pressed his ear to the door, breath held. The wood was cold against his temple, but vibrations shivered through. Aether’s voice, low, measured. Omega’s sharper, issuing instructions. The splash of water.
Then—Rain. A broken, gasping sound.
Dew recoiled like he’d been struck. His throat worked, but no words came out. Cirrus reached for him. He only shook his head, sharp and jerky, eyes wide and wet.
A door opened suddenly. They all snapped upright.
Papa stepped through, his robes sweeping the stone. His face was carved in lines, his presence heavy in the quiet hall. He looked each of them over in a glance, eyes narrowing as he took in their drawn faces, the restless panic simmering in their movements.
“What happened?” His tone was even, measured — the voice of their leader, not their caretaker.
Cirrus tried to answer but her throat closed. Dew blurted instead, voice raw: “He—he…” he swallowed sharply, tried again, “we didn’t—none of us—”
Papa lifted a hand, sighing. “Later. Tell me later.”
Without waiting for their protests, he turned and entered the infirmary. For a moment, the door cracked just wide enough for them to glimpse the lamplight and a flash of Aether’s glow bent over Rain’s chest. Then it closed again.
The silence that followed pressed down harder than stone.
Minutes bled into hours. They slumped against the wall, heads dropping to knees, jerking awake whenever a sound slipped through the door. Cirrus leaned once against the panels and caught fragments — Omega saying, “No sudden shocks.” Aether murmuring, “Hold steady.” Then a low whimper that made her draw back quick, biting her lip.
Mountain pulled her against his side when she started shaking.
Dew had gone quiet entirely, staring at the floor with a clenched jaw, trembling with energy he couldn’t burn off.
At last, the door opened again. Papa stepped out, closing it firmly behind him. He looked tired, older, but softer this time. His gaze swept over them again, but now it lingered.
“Your duties are suspended for the week,” he said, tone still official. “Eat. Rest. Stay together. That is my order.”
Dew opened his mouth, desperate — “But Rain—”
Papa’s expression shifted, gentled. The sharp edges smoothed, leaving the man beneath the robes. “He is not gone,” he said quietly. “That is all you need tonight. Trust him to Aether and Omega until they say otherwise.”
The words broke something in all of them — relief, grief, fear tangled together. Cirrus bowed her head into her hands. Mountain exhaled so hard his shoulders slumped. Dew pressed his fists to his eyes, shaking.
Papa stood among them for a moment longer, then reached down and brushed Cirrus’s shoulder, briefly touched Mountain’s arm, a fleeting gesture of care but enough to ground them. “You are his pack. He will need you strong when he wakes. Do not waste yourselves here on cold stone.”
Then he left them to each other, and the door closed again.
They stayed anyway.
Hours dragged. The abbey dimmed to silence around them, but they lingered like shadows pinned outside the door, unwilling to leave. Every sound from within — a voice raised, water splashing, the scrape of metal — made them flinch.
Finally, the door opened again. Not Papa this time. Aether.
He looked wrung out, eyes hollow, skin pale from magic drawn thin. He shut the door softly behind him and leaned against it, gathering himself before facing them.
“Omega says no visitors,” he said quietly. “He’s stable, but fragile. Too fragile for us in there.”
No comfort, no softness. Just the hollow weight of resignation.
They hesitated, unwilling to move. Cirrus’s breath hitched. Dew’s claws scraped against the stone. Mountain finally stood, slow and steady, and crossed the space to clap a hand onto Aether’s shoulder.
“You’ve done enough for tonight,” he said firmly. “Let us do our part. We all need to eat and get some rest. We’ll get him back by being ready when he wakes.”
Aether sagged under his touch, not quite nodding, but not resisting either.
That was enough. The pack rose with him, stiff from stone and grief, and followed him down the corridor. Their steps dragged, but Mountain kept them steady, shepherding them back toward the common room.
For the first time all night, they obeyed — not because their fear eased, but because they had no choice but to trust Aether would return them to Rain when morning came.
The next morning, Aether was gone before they woke.
His uniform and jacket were missing, his bed was cold, and his pajamas were left in a pile on the floor instead of the neat folded stack he usually made. He hadn’t slept long, if at all.
They saw him again only in passing, hurrying down the hall with a satchel slung over his shoulder, eyes shadowed but sharp with focus. He paused just long enough to tell them: “Stay together. I’ll come back tonight.” Then he vanished around the corner.
And so the days blurred.
They kept to the common room, listless, chores suspended. Cumulus tried to distract them with card games, and Cirrus strummed a guitar absentmindedly, but it never lasted long. Mountain lingered by the fire, silent and steady, while Dew paced or snapped at shadows.
Meals came and went half-eaten. Blankets piled up on the couches. Sometimes they dozed in a heap, one ear tilted toward the door, waiting for footsteps.
Evening always came the same way: one of them — usually Cirrus — would go out to find Aether, to make sure he didn’t walk back alone. They’d meet him in the cloister, shoulders slumped, magic still buzzing faint around his hands like static.
He’d let them usher him inside, sit at the table with food already waiting. He always ate, if only because Mountain shoved a plate into his hands. He always reported something, no matter how small:
“His breathing’s steadier.”
“He stirred once when Omega adjusted the wards.”
“Still weak. Still cold. But here.”
Then he’d fall asleep half-sitting on the couch, until someone tugged him down and covered him with a blanket.
On the third night, something shifted.
Aether came through the door without that brittle, hollow look. His stride was still tired, but lighter. His shoulders weren’t bowed. When Mountain pressed a bowl into his hands, he ate without prompting, and when Dew muttered sharp questions, Aether didn’t flinch.
Afterwards, he leaned back in his chair, eyes closed, and said simply:
“Tomorrow. You can all see him tomorrow.”
For a moment, no one breathed.
Then Cirrus laughed, short and shaky, her hands pressed to her face. Dew swore under his breath, pacing faster, but his tail lashed like relief. Cumulus leaned into Mountain, shoulders trembling with silent tears.
Even Aether smiled — a small thing, worn at the edges, but real.
Tomorrow.
Morning came, and this time Aether didn’t leave alone.
The pack followed him in silence through the abbey’s quiet halls, their steps soft against stone. The clinic smelled of herbs and alcohol and faint ozone from quintessence magic. Omega met them at the door, his sharp gaze raking over each of them before jerking his chin toward the far room.
“Stay quiet. Don’t crowd him. He’s awake, but weak,” he said, voice low, clipped. His eyes lingered on Dew a moment too long, like he expected trouble. Dew bared his teeth, but Aether’s hand on his shoulder pulled him forward.
The room was bright. Too bright, compared to the dim hush of the corridor. Rain sat propped on the narrow bed, a heavy blanket pooled around his waist. His skin was pale, faintly blue at the edges of his gills. A pot of salve rested on the bedside table, and Omega stood beside him, overseeing as Rain rubbed lotion carefully along his arms and over the ridges at his ribs.
His hands shook with the effort.
He hadn’t noticed them yet. His focus was inward, movements painstaking, his glamour flickering in and out so that the faint sheen of scales ghosted across his skin. He looked smaller than they remembered.
None of them spoke. Even Dew — normally sharp, impatient — fell still, frozen in the doorway.
Omega’s gaze cut toward them, one brow arching in silent warning. Wait.
Rain finished smoothing the salve over his arm before he finally looked up.
His eyes widened when he saw them. For a heartbeat, he froze — then his expression twisted, shame flickering sharp across his face.
“I—” His voice was a rasp, hoarse from disuse. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—didn’t want to cause all this trouble—”
“Stop.” The word cracked out of Aether, firm but gentle. He crossed the room in three strides, setting the salve aside and steadying Rain’s trembling hand. “No apologies. Not from you.”
Behind him, the others spilled forward, hesitating at the edges of the bed. Cirrus hovered close, wringing her hands. Cumulus reached for Rain’s tail, then pulled back, afraid to touch. Mountain loomed silently at the foot of the bed, steady as a wall.
Dew didn’t hesitate. He climbed up onto the mattress and pressed in behind Rain, curling himself into place like he belonged there. His arms wrapped tight around Rain’s middle, his forehead against the back of his neck.
Omega’s eyes narrowed, mouth opening — but Rain sagged instantly into the contact, eyes slipping half-shut, a soft purr vibrating low in his chest.
That sound stilled the room. Even Omega said nothing, just exhaled through his nose and stepped back.
The pack seemed to break all at once.
Cirrus reached forward, brushing careful fingers over Rain’s hand. Cumulus pressed in close, murmuring apologies against his shoulder. Mountain shifted nearer, a steadying weight at his side. Dew smirked, smug even as he tucked his chin against Rain’s shoulder, soaking in his warmth like he’d never let go.
Rain’s eyes blurred. His throat tightened, the words he’d meant to say—apologies, excuses—falling away under the sheer force of their presence. He breathed in, shaky, and let it out in a purr so soft it barely carried.
They answered not with words, but with touch, presence, warmth.
Rain let his eyes fall shut, his breathing slow and steady now, the sounds of his pack soft and close all around him. Their voices overlapped in whispers, their touches warm against his chilled skin, their presence filling every corner of the small clinic room until it felt less like a ward and more like home. For weeks he’d been alone inside the cold — but not anymore. Not with them pressed in so tightly, not with their warmth sinking into him like fire under his skin.
For the first time all winter, Rain believed he would survive it.
Rain was discharged three days later, though Omega made his disapproval clear with every click of his tongue and curt instruction. Aether shadowed them like a hound as they walked him back across the courtyard, still wrapped in thick blankets, still unsteady on his feet.
Papa waited at the threshold.
He looked every bit the proud leader — sharp black robes, hands folded behind his back, expression composed — but when Rain stumbled, it was Papa who reached first, steadying him with a firm hand under his elbow. His voice dropped low, private, when he spoke.
“You frightened them,” he said, not unkindly, nodding toward the pack clustered behind. “And me. Don’t do it again.”
Rain ducked his head, murmuring apology, but Papa only sighed. His hand lingered a moment longer before he released him.
“You are excused from all duties until Omega clears you. No arguments.” His eyes swept over the rest of the pack, sharp again. “And the rest of you — watch him properly this time.”
They nodded, subdued, but when Papa turned and swept away down the hall, his voice carried back, softer, almost fond:
“And try not to drive me mad in the process.”
The days that followed blurred into one long stretch of hovering. Rain wasn’t left alone for a moment. Someone always sat beside him when he rested in the common room, blankets piled high; someone always walked with him when he tried to move about the abbey, slow steps echoing down the corridors. They helped with moisturizer, though only Aether or Dew were allowed near his gills.
At night, he was tugged into nests of limbs and tails, half-smothered by warmth. If he looked overwhelmed, someone would pull back, but not far — never out of reach.
Dew especially clung close. He didn’t say much, not at first, but his eyes tracked Rain’s every move, sharp and restless.
The others had only just settled in when Dew stood abruptly and snapped, “Out.”
Cirrus frowned up at him. “What’s your problem now—”
“ Out. ” His voice cracked sharper than he intended, but he didn’t soften it. He stood there until Mountain, grumbling under his breath, finally started untangling himself from the pile. The rest followed with reluctant huffs and side-eye. Cirrus muttered something rude on her way out.
Rain blinked after them, bewildered, until the door clicked shut. “What was that about?”
Dew sat on the edge of the bed, shoulders hunched. His hands flexed restlessly against his knees before he finally said, rough and low, “I should’ve seen it.”
“…Seen what?”
“That you were freezing.” His jaw tightened. “I went through it too. The cold crawling in until your body stops working. The way your pack has to fuss over you like you’ll crack apart if they touch you wrong. I hated every second of it. Hated needing them. Hated being so… breakable.”
He drew a sharp breath through his teeth. “And I should’ve remembered. Should’ve recognized it in you. Mist and Lake and River and Delta dragged me through it. And I just… let you drown in it alone. I’m sorry, Rain. I knew better.”
Rain studied him for a long moment, then reached to rest a hand over his wrist. “…You’re right,” he said quietly. “You should’ve known.”
Dew flinched, guilt flashing in his eyes — until Rain squeezed his wrist, firm.
“But I didn’t say anything either,” he went on. “I kept telling everyone I was fine. Same mistake you made — hating being seen as weak, until it nearly killed me.” His voice dipped, softer. “Maybe we both screwed up.”
Silence stretched, heavy but not suffocating. Dew’s shoulders slowly slumped.
Then Rain’s mouth twitched into a crooked grin. “…And, don’t correct me if I’m wrong, but what you’re really saying is I’ve got a coupon for free pampering for life now? Because I think I can live with that.”
Dew barked a laugh despite himself, incredulous and fond. “You little brat.”
Rain’s grin widened. “Takes one to know one.”
Dew growled under his breath, but the heat had left his anger, softened now into relief. He flopped sideways onto the bed, curling in close until their bodies pressed together. Rain let his arm fall around him, his purr a low rumble against Dew’s chest.
“Don’t scare me like that again,” Dew muttered into his shoulder.
“…No promises.”
“Asshole.”
“Mm. Warm asshole, though.”
Despite himself, Dew chuckled. The tension had broken, replaced by something steadier, safer. For the first time, he let the guilt ease its grip. Rain was here, solid against him, still purring. Still alive.
And that was enough.
By the time spring sunlight filtered through the abbey’s high windows, the pack had found its new rhythm.
Rain was never left to drift alone anymore. Someone always found an excuse to curl up with him — Mountain with an arm casually slung across his shoulders, Cirrus tugging his tail into her lap to braid ribbons around the fins, Dew sprawling across him like a smug heating pad. Aether didn’t often join the piles, but he had an uncanny way of appearing with a hand on Rain’s shoulder or ruffling his hair, or a quietly cheeky reminder to moisturize.
Moisturizer itself had become a running joke. If Rain so much as reached for the bottle, someone was there. Mountain with his giant, careful hands. Cirrus scolding him for missing a spot. Even Cumulus humming while she worked it into the curve of his tail. Dew made a point of grumbling about “pampering duty” even as he did it, and flipped off Rain’s smug look each time.
“Designated blanket duty,” Cirrus announced one evening, tossing a wool throw over Rain and then climbing under it herself. “It’s official. You belong to the pack now.”
“I thought I already did,” Rain said, amused.
“Yeah, but now we’ve got paperwork.” Cirrus grinned, smug.
Dew snorted. “She means you’ve got no escape.”
Rain rolled his eyes, but the soft sound of his purr gave him away.
Even Papa noticed the shift. Passing by the common room one evening, he paused at the sight of Rain sprawled half-asleep across Mountain and Dew, Cirrus draped over his tail, Cumulus fussing over his hair. The corner of his mouth twitched upward despite himself.
“Idioti,” he muttered, but there was no bite in it. Only warmth.
The pack pretended not to hear, though Dew caught Rain’s eye and smirked. Rain’s purr rumbled louder, like agreement.
They had nearly lost him. They weren’t going to again.