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The rain has been falling steadily since dawn- soft and gentle at first, then gradually becoming a steady silvery downpour over the ministry. Every corridor whispers with its wicked rhythm. You can hear it in every corner of the Abbey- the gutters whispering, the roof sighing, fallen leaves swirling along the ground and the rhythm of raindrops hitting stained glass like a gentle chant. The morning mass has been postponed indefinitely, the courtyard is empty, and the air is peppered with the scent of damp earth and candle smoke.
Perpetua has declared as of this morning that the weather is “a divine suggestion to remain indoors.” His tone had been lofty, but his actions betrayed the tone in his voice: he trades his papal vestments for a loose purple shirt and a pair of soft black trousers. The beautiful curls of his hair are all disheveled.
You find Perpetua in the sitting room, a freshly prepared pot of tea steaming on a table beside him, sleeves rolled up into his forearms. A sight that felt almost secretive.
As you step into the room, he glances up and over his book, a small curve forming upon his lips. “Ah, cara anima, you have braved the storm.” He murmurs softly, voice low and gruff from disuse today.
You smile back at him, shaking a few stray droplets from your hair. “It’s miserable out there. The entire courtyard is a puddle!”
“Then you shall stay here. The world can wait.” He gestures to the spot on the sofa beside him, a quiet command softened by affection.
You happily join him, sinking into the couch beside him. The fire crackles contently in the hearth, while Perpetua pours cups of tea for both of you- unhurriedly. As he passes you a cup, your fingers brush slowly and gently- lingering momentarily.
For awhile, there is nothing but the sound of the storm and the steady crackle of the fire. The candlelight in the room casts everything in a golden warmth- the books, the blankets and the patient rise and fall of his chest beside you.
Eventually, you felt him watching you.
“You seem at peace.” He says quietly.
You turn your head toward him, smiling.
“You do too.”
That earns a small breathy laugh from his soft lips. Something rare and unguarded. “You have noticed, hm?”
His hand finds yours- first resting on the couch in the small space between you, then entwining with yours gently as his thumb gently traces over your knuckles. His rings are cool to the touch but his skin is warm beneath. The gesture was slow, careful- perhaps even reverent. As if the world may shatter if he is not careful enough.
When thunder cracks in the distance, you lean against him, instinctively seeking his warmth and comfort. He responds with no hesitation of any kind, drawing you closer until your head is resting on his chest. His arm comes up and around you, pulling you in closer, steady and protective.
“You will ruin my reputation for austerity.” He teases, fondness seeping into the tone of his voice.
“Maybe that’s not such a bad thing.” You whisper back softly.
He tilts his head, resting his cheek against the hair on the top of your head. “No.” He admits gently. “Perhaps not.”
Time begins to blur. The rain eventually grows softer, the tea all but forgotten, the only sound between you the quiet harmony of two breaths falling into a rhythm together. His fingers trace idle circles across your arm, slow enough to feel deliberate, as though memorizing the shape of your body in the silence.
You look up at him, his gaze meeting yours- no distance, or titles between you. Just the warmth of the fire, both in the room and in his soul, reflecting in his eyes.
When he leans in, it is slow and gentle, testing- lips brushing your forehead first, then lingering there, as if in extreme reluctance to pull away. “You bring peace into the storm.” He murmurs.
“And you,” you answer back with a sweet smile, cheeks slightly blushing “make it feel safe to stay.”
The rain deepens again outside, a lullaby for the world beyond this private sanctuary you find yourself in. Wrapped up in both of his arms you both sink into the warmth, completely content to let time slip by totally unnoticed.
And when sleep begins to tug at the corner of your eyes and the edges of your thoughts, his last words come soft and low, like a benediction meant solely for you. “Stay, little one. Until the rain decides to stop…and perhaps…even after.”