Chapter Text
Rain had started as a threat.
Just a low rumble in the clouds above the city, the wind carrying the scent of wet stone and coming storms through the narrow streets. The market vendors had noticed first, throwing cloth covers over crates of fruit and flowers while grumbling under their breath.
You had noticed because Olruggio stopped walking mid-sentence and looked up at the sky like it had personally offended him.
“We should head back,” he said immediately.
You blinked. “It’s barely drizzling.”
A single drop landed directly on the bridge of his nose.
His expression flattened further somehow. “That’s how rain works.”
You laughed.
That was your first mistake.
Your second mistake was continuing to tease him while the drizzle became actual rain.
“Oh no,” you gasped dramatically, clutching your chest. “Not water. Whatever shall the great and powerful Olruggio do?”
“I’m serious.”
“You’re always serious.”
Another drop hit your cheek. Then another. Then several.
The rain came down all at once.
Not romantic rain. Not gentle rain. Not the kind bards sang about.
This was violent, determined rain.
The sky opened like someone had overturned an entire ocean over the city.
“Oh, hells—”
Olruggio grabbed your wrist instantly. “Run.”
You burst into laughter as he dragged you through the streets.
People shrieked and scattered in every direction, market stalls slamming shut while awnings snapped violently in the wind. Within seconds your shoes were soaked through. Water splashed up your legs every time you stumbled over uneven cobblestones.
Olruggio looked deeply unimpressed with the entire concept of weather.
His dark hair was plastered to his forehead already, rain dripping from the sharp line of his jaw while he maneuvered through crowds with grim determination.
Meanwhile you could barely breathe from laughing.
“You look furious,” you wheezed.
“I am furious.”
“At the rain?”
“At you.”
“What did I do?!”
“You insisted we stop at six different stalls because one old woman was selling tiny glass frogs.”
“She said they bring luck.”
“She also said they cure stomach aches.”
“You don’t know that they don’t.”
Lightning cracked somewhere nearby.
You yelped and nearly slipped.
Olruggio caught you immediately, arm wrapping around your waist before you could hit the ground. For one brief second your body slammed fully against his.
Warm.
Solid.
Steady.
Even soaked to the bone, he radiated heat.
You looked up instinctively.
And there it was again.
That look.
The one he kept giving you lately when he thought you weren’t paying attention.
Something quiet. Intense. Almost painful.
Then he blinked and it vanished behind irritation.
“Careful,” he muttered.
“Right,” you said weakly.
Another crash of thunder shook the street.
You jumped so hard you accidentally smacked directly into his chest again.
Olruggio stared down at you.
“…You’re scared of thunder?”
“No.”
Thunder cracked again.
You grabbed his sleeve with both hands.
“…A little.”
His mouth twitched.
Not a smile.
Olruggio almost never smiled fully.
But that tiny twitch at the corner of his lips felt victorious enough.
“Come on,” he said, softer now.
He guided you down a side street before abruptly steering you beneath the awning of a tiny café squeezed between a bookstore and tailor shop.
A bell jingled overhead as he pushed open the door.
Warmth hit you instantly.
The smell came next.
Fresh bread. Cinnamon. Coffee. Melted butter and sugar.
You nearly cried.
“Oh, this is heaven.”
The café was tiny and crowded, windows fogged from the storm outside. People sat packed shoulder-to-shoulder at little wooden tables while rain battered the glass hard enough to rattle it.
An elderly woman behind the counter took one look at the two of you dripping onto her floor and sighed.
“Young people.”
“We’re not together,” Olruggio said immediately.
You stared at him.
The old woman stared at him.
Olruggio seemed to realize what he’d said a second too late.
A pause followed.
Then the woman snorted.
“Mhm.”
Your face burned instantly.
Olruggio looked like he wanted lightning to strike him specifically.
The woman tossed two towels at you both anyway.
“Sit before you catch pneumonia.”
You slid into a tiny booth by the window while Olruggio removed his soaked coat with visible annoyance. Rainwater dripped from the ends of his hair onto the table.
It should not have been attractive.
Unfortunately, it was.
Very attractive.
Disgustingly attractive.
You looked away before he caught you staring.
“Here.”
You glanced back up.
Olruggio was holding out his towel toward you because apparently yours was insufficient somehow.
“I have one already.”
“You missed a spot.”
“…Where?”
He leaned closer without answering and gently wiped rainwater from your cheek himself.
Your brain stopped functioning.
Completely.
Entirely.
Gone.
His fingers lingered for half a second too long.
Then realization flashed across his face and he pulled back immediately like he’d touched fire.
“I—”
“It’s okay,” you blurted.
Now both of you looked horrified.
Wonderful.
A server appeared before either of you could make things worse.
“What can I get you?”
You looked at the menu for approximately three seconds.
“Hot chocolate.”
Olruggio sighed like a disappointed father. “You’re an adult.”
“And?”
“And adults drink coffee.”
“I don’t like coffee.”
“You don’t like anything bitter.”
“That’s not true.”
“You cried after tasting dark chocolate once.”
“It was ninety percent cacao! That’s basically dirt.”
The server snorted loudly.
Olruggio pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Two hot chocolates,” he said at last.
You gasped. “Really?”
“You’ll complain if I’m the only one drinking something warm.”
“That is correct.”
“I know.”
There was something dangerous about the way he said it.
Soft.
Familiar.
Like he knew you too well.
You suddenly became very interested in the table.
The drinks arrived alongside an absurd amount of pastries.
You stared.
“…Olruggio.”
“What?”
“There are at least twelve things here.”
“You said you were hungry earlier.”
“That was three hours ago.”
“You’re still hungry.”
“You ordered enough food for a family.”
“You’ll eat it.”
He was right.
You immediately grabbed a cinnamon pastry the size of your face.
Olruggio watched with the resigned expression of a man who had accepted his fate long ago.
“You eat like a starving animal.”
“You say that with such affection.”
“I absolutely do not.”
“You bought me twelve pastries.”
“For efficiency.”
“Efficiency.”
“Yes.”
You narrowed your eyes.
“Are you secretly rich?”
“No.”
“Then why do you spend so much money on me?”
Silence.
Actual silence.
Olruggio looked away first.
Rain hammered the windows harder.
You watched his throat move when he swallowed.
Then, carefully neutral:
“You like things.”
“That is the worst answer I’ve ever heard.”
“It’s the only one you’re getting.”
Interesting.
Very interesting.
You took a long sip of hot chocolate to hide your smile.
The warmth spread through your chest instantly.
Outside, people sprinted through flooded streets while thunder rolled overhead.
Inside, the café glowed gold with candlelight.
And Olruggio—
Olruggio sat across from you with damp hair, sleeves rolled to his forearms, fingers curled around a chipped ceramic mug while he watched the storm with tired eyes.
You’d known him long enough to recognize the signs now.
The subtle tension in his shoulders.
The constant awareness of where you were.
The way he always positioned himself between you and crowded rooms without thinking about it.
The way his expression softened by microscopic degrees whenever you laughed.
He hadn’t confessed.
Not once.
But sometimes you wondered if he even realized how obvious he was becoming.
“Why are you staring at me?”
You nearly inhaled hot chocolate.
“I wasn’t!”
“You were.”
“You can’t prove that.”
“You looked directly into my eyes for ten consecutive seconds.”
“That sounds fake.”
“It was uncomfortable.”
“You’re uncomfortable.”
“I am now.”
You burst out laughing again.
A couple at the next table glanced over, smiling.
Olruggio muttered something under his breath in annoyance, but there was no real heat behind it.
You rested your chin in your hand.
“You know,” you said casually, “the old woman thought we were dating.”
“She was mistaken.”
“Mhm.”
“She was.”
“You sounded very eager to deny it.”
His ears turned faintly red.
Victory.
Sweet, sweet victory.
“You looked horrified too,” he shot back.
“Because you denied it so fast.”
“You denied it internally.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“It absolutely is.”
“It’s really not.”
“It counts.”
You grinned.
He looked away again.
Coward.
Cute coward, but coward nonetheless.
Thunder cracked violently overhead.
Without thinking, your hand jerked toward his.
Olruggio caught it automatically.
Large warm fingers closed around yours beneath the table before either of you fully processed what happened.
Then both of you froze.
Oh.
Oh no.
His hand was warm.
Very warm.
Calloused too.
Your pulse immediately lost all structure.
Slowly—very slowly—his thumb brushed once across your knuckles.
Not teasing.
Not accidental.
Something in his expression shifted when he realized you weren’t pulling away.
The café noise faded strangely around you.
Rain.
Thunder.
Warm candlelight.
His hand holding yours like it belonged there.
Olruggio looked at you with that same unbearable expression again.
Too soft.
Too careful.
Like loving you was something fragile he carried around quietly in both hands.
Your heart stumbled.
Then the server appeared out of nowhere holding another tray.
“More pastries.”
Both of you jumped apart like criminals.
“We didn’t order more,” Olruggio said immediately.
The server shrugged. “Grandmother says the girl looks sad.”
“I’m not sad,” you protested.
The old woman from the counter yelled across the café:
“YOU NEED MORE CREAM PUFFS.”
You dissolved into helpless laughter.
Olruggio covered his face with one hand.
“This is a nightmare.”
“You’re blushing.”
“I am not.”
“You absolutely are.”
“I hate this café.”
“You love this café.”
“…The pastries are acceptable.”
You pointed dramatically. “A confession!”
“That was not a confession.”
“One step at a time.”
He gave you a long suffering look while you grinned over the rim of your mug.
Outside, the storm showed no signs of stopping.
Neither of you seemed particularly eager to leave anymore.