Post-TTM after Rayla (hopefully) returns to Katolis. It ties into my post-TTM story, Mess of Things, a little bit. It also got way past drabble length, oops 😄
Rayla was seated precariously on the edge of the balcony in the pouring rain. Alone in the dark, like she seemed so determined to be.
She shivered against him when he urged her down from the railing.
Katolis was colder than Xadia had been, and Autumn had seemed to hit all at once when they arrived back in Katolis, and she was completely soaked and damnit, she needed to do better! She was still a bit away from a healthy weight, according to the palace physician, and he was sure the lack of sleep and general stress levels didn’t help her resistance to getting sick either, never mind hanging out in frigid rain in your pajamas.
At least she let him lead her inside, leaving the sodden nightclothes on the floor before crawling under the covers of his bed together. The linens were still warm, and soon they were too, or mostly, at least, her feet sandwiched between his and her hands cradled against his chest the last holdout of chill.
He stroked her wet hair out of her face. “You could have come to me before you went to sit in the rain alone?” he said, unable to keep the upset quite out of his voice. She had chosen cold and solitude over warmth and company.
She traced the dark circles under his eyes, smiling sadly. “Love, I woke you up twice last night...” Damnit, Rayla! They had talked at length about the bloody hair-trigger for self-sacrifice!
“We talked about this! We AGREED you wouldn’t-” He cut himself off because that had been too close to shouting, and they had another agreement on that. “You just- I woke up to your bed empty, Rayla!” he choked out, his throat tight.
“I’m sorry. I know. It’s just...” She cupped his face in both her cold little hands, tilting it up to meet hers, catching his lips in a kiss that was tender and sweet, and like a balm on the jittery aftereffects of the panicky brain spiral that empty bed had started, but... it was also an apology and- “I’m sorry,” she repeated.
“You don’t need to apologize.”
“I... will never be done apologizing. I keep messing up-”
“I just... I never want you to kiss me because you’re sorry, okay? Never.”
He got only a brief look at the familiar glint in her eyes, before she kissed him again, longer and more thoroughly than before.
“Callum?” She drew back to lean her forehead again his, pure defiance in her eyes, so much more attractive than the contrition. “I’m not sorry, if you’re not. I wanted to kiss you and I did.”
“No,” he gasped out, still catching his breath. “Not sorry.”
