let’s think about snail rain and air fried dew for a moment.
it’s been 7 years, Dew’s skin is mostly healed. Save for the relapses that make him itch and peel in the winter. The air inside and out is dry, the cold is biting, and the scratchy hotel sheets don’t do him any favors.
He lathers himself in various lotions and creams, trying to assert both that he can take care of himself; and that Rain need not spend his time worrying about it.
Everything feels like it’s higher stakes than ever, especially knowing this tour will be the last for a long while. Surely they’re all entitled to a long break. But it makes him nervous. Dew isn’t ready to be shelved just yet. If history bears repeating and if patterns mean anything at all - he is headed towards retirement. Willing or unwilling.
He’s known since the second year of his transition that stress only serves to exacerbate the condition. The breaking point comes as the temperatures drop into the negative double digits. Right after their bows, he’s tearing down the stairs stage left as fast as his legs can carry him. Unwise, considering where that landed him last time. At the bottom with shattered bones and a bruised ego.
Rain finds him there, legs tucked beneath his thighs, nails raking harshly over blotchy, peeling skin. He’s not sure what burns more, the itch or the broken skin he suffers in trying to relieve it.
Rain is never one to rub salt in the wounds. He just gathers Dew’s cracked hands in his own and leads him someplace quiet.
Dew isn’t even sure where. Perhaps a dressing room, a bathroom, a broom closet. It all fades away when Rain begins smoothing his hands over the sharp planes of his face. Relief. Pressed into his scorched flesh by cool, gentle fingers. Even though his entire body aches for the same, just a modicum of respite is enough to make his whole body sag.
“Can you make it the rest of the way? So I can take care of you?”
For once, he can’t conjure up any words of protest. Dew simply nods and allows himself to be led by the one who saved him, who is always willing to save him again and again.
Begging for more Raindrop sickfics 🥺🥺🥺 (esp if Dew is acting as a heating pack for Rain who's not feeling well)
Hi anon! 675 words of Dew, sentient hot water bottle, at your service.
No warnings, Rain is sore from living in a tour bus. Dew as always, wants to help.
It’s reached that point in the tour - when the never ending sleepover on wheels, the skipping across continents in a matter of weeks, the never having to cook your own meals, or concern yourself with chores of any sort - has lost its novelty.
Rain longs for a more modest routine. Lazy days spent tangled up in his sheets, getting crumbs in the bed when Dew begrudges him breakfast in bed. He misses the way the light filters through the coloured glass in his bedroom window. Beauty begs forgiveness for the poor insulation he suffers in the colder months.
He misses sand in his shoes and fighting over the remote and making meals together and going on day trips to shop for records and vintage knicknacks. Summer festivals and winter holidays. All the mundanity of his domestic life at the Abbey.
And he knows when he’s back there, he’ll feel the ache in his bones. The one that longs for the road all over again. Bright lights, the scent of sweat and sulphur. The way his bass becomes an extension of his body and he can focus on other things. Like being belligerent to his Papa. Or beguiling his fellow ghouls.
For now he ruminates on a different kind of ache. The one seated in his lower back, curving around his hips and clawing its way down his hamstrings. He turns over for the 48th time, trying not to pull the blankets or jostle the mattress, lest he wake Dew, again.
Dew is an empathetic sleeper however, and although he appreciates the consideration, he wishes Rain would just ask for help instead.
The covers shift, Dew exhales slowly, disturbing the tendrils that have escaped the elastic containing a mess of sweat damp waves.
Rain feels warm fingers brush against his lower back, and a tug at the hem of his t-shirt.
He obliges and rolls to face the wall. He’s startled by the sound that clamours up his vocal chords when Dew starts kneading the tense meat of his lower back. A pained whine descending into the warm, deep timbre of relief.
“So good.” Or Dew thinks that’s what he’s heard. It’s slurred into the fabric of his pillow.
Dew wants to chastise him for not just asking. But then guilt wraps its bony fingers around his skinny neck. He knows Rain has kept quiet about the aches that haunt him with increasing frequency as the tour progresses.
And he knows it’s because of his foot. His stupid broken foot. He takes a deep breath and tries to focus, center himself in what he can do here and now. As he’s been reminded several times over, he can’t go back and undo what’s been done.
But he can try his best now to help in the ways he knows he can. He pulls away, Rain mumbles a whaaa that dissolves into an irritated mewl.
“One second.”
The rattle of gel capsules in a plastic container tickles his left ear drum.
“Take.” Two ibuprofen are placed into his palm, he gropes in the dark for his water bottle, tossing them back and then flopping dramatically back onto his side. He shuffles toward Dew, pressing his backside against his bony hips.
”Careful. I might get the wrong idea.” Dew whispers.
Rain grunts, which translates roughly to “you know that’s not what I’m trying to do, pervert.” Which is code for “if I could I would but my back hurts.”
Dew decides he can tease him more later, for now he focuses on the knots in Rain’s lower back, letting heat bleed from his fingertips into the tense muscle. Working his way up the length of his spine, beneath his scapula, along his strained trapezius.
Until Rain’s breathing slows and his body begins to sink into the mattress properly.
Dew presses himself in tight. Molding his body around the contours of the sleeping ghoul in front of him. He concentrates on his function as a human hot water bottle. Rain’s sleepy purr lets him know he’s doing an excellent job.
Rain/Dew - Pre-relationship raindrop, New Years, Sickfic, Hangovers, Drunk Rain, Concerned Dew, mutual pining
2382 words
Happy New Year everyone! I hope you all fare better than Rain did.
This fic is for @ghoulodont - the raindrop sickfic legend to whom I dedicate this uno reverse of Dew caring for Rain
Thank you @mac-and-thefox for editing 🖤
CW: alcohol, intoxication, vomiting, hangovers
A hazy figure peels back the curtains. The late afternoon sun strikes, like a lightning bolt right between his eyes. He retreats under the pile of blankets but it’s too late. The sunlight penetrates his skull and shoots white hot pain from his frontal lobe to his cerebellum.
Muffled groans of anguish can be heard emanating from beneath the covers. The elongated figure curls into what Dew thinks must resemble a giant potato bug that’s conglobating.
A word he acquired from Lapilus, who needs very little encouragement and has a great stamina for rambling about insects of all kinds. Dew darted away when he started to show him horrific photos on his phone of something called a trilobite.
“Sorry, I thought you were asleep.”
His apology is sincere. His empathy is extended by hand, as he rubs small circles in what he thinks is Rain’s back.
He hears a few garbled words that sound like I was and wonders if he should leave him to it.
However he’s startled to his feet when Rain very suddenly and violently kicks at the covers, finally dislodging the fabric underneath his body so that he can escape the heat and the trapped odor of alcohol that seems to be seeping from every pore on his body.
He pants a few times, something akin to a tickle dances at the back of his tongue. There’s a brief interlude where he and Dew exchange looks of terror. The duvet is filled with feathers, and the cover is in the wash.
Dew feels guilty, of course if Rain had to projectile vomit all over the bedding, he would clean it without complaint. It’s normally Rain playing nursemaid and tending his sickbed after all.
He swallows hard and wrestles back control of his gag reflex. All is well, for now. He feels heat wash over his face for an altogether different reason now.
Memories of the evening lay like shards of glass from a highball tumbler smashed on the paving stones. He can look at them from a distance but he’s afraid to get too close to them. Lest they draw blood.
His head droops, the sweat-damp waves that have escaped his messy bun flop in front of his eyes, obscuring the peccant expression on his face.
“Sorry - I guess I had a little - no. A lot to drink.”
“It’s okay, happens to the best of us.”
Rain smacks his lips together, his tongue still tastes like cinnamon and whiskey. He tries to hold back but the wretched sound of gagging makes Dew practically jump off the bed again.
“I’m - hiccup - so - hiccup - sorry. Please, I’m so - hiccup - gross. Just go, I’ll be - hiccup - fine.
He clutches at his abdomen, as though he could compress his roiling guts into something smaller, so that the pain would be more manageable.
His esophagus burns each and every time he hiccups. Pretty bottles with amber coloured liquid, sweet on the tongue, razor blades down his throat.
His throat - it aches. Like someone turning the tuning pegs on his vocal chords until they were about to snap.
”Let me get you some medicine. And water. Just stay here.”
Dew lifts up a trash bin lined with a plastic grocery bag up and nods. Clearly that was placed at his bedside just in case.
Suddenly it feels like his loose bun is yanking at his scalp. He tries to pull the elastic out but it’s all tangled up in his sweaty hair. After shaking it a few times he grunts in frustration as tears begin to slide down his flush cheeks.
He immediately rebounds, urging himself to get a fucking grip.
As he tries to pick at the knots wrapped around the thin band, he suddenly recalls why it’s in his hair in the first place. He wants to cry all over again.
Dew’s fingers raking through his hair as he hovers over the toilet. Dew manages to gather it up into a bun of sorts, to keep it out of his face. As he pleads with Dew to leave the room. Which he does as soon as he has Rain’s hair secured.
He finally works the elastic out. It’s black and it’s starting to come apart where it’s connected. There are long platinum strands of hair tangled up in it, likely why it got caught. He imagines Dew’s pale wrist, ringed with a red indent from wearing the hair tie there day in and day out.
Rain’s not sure he’s ever seen him use it. Until now.
It looks like it’s on the verge of snapping, but he can’t bring himself to toss it in the bin. Instead, he pulls it over his hand and lets it settle on his own wrist. Perhaps when he gives it back they’ll have matching red marks, at least for a little while.
He leans back and fumbles with the bedside drawer, finally dislodging it from its broken track. He rummages without looking, until his hand locates the cardboard strip lined with hair ties in varying shades of blue.
He stacks the palest hue on top of the black hair tie. He thinks it’ll look lovely against the veins so prominently threaded throughout Dew’s wrist and hand.
He hears the gentle scuff of Dew’s footsteps as he returns with a tray laden with all manner of medication.
He sets it on the bed and the various items gently clatter and it reminds him of a movie or a show, set back a few hundred years. Where everything always clicks and clanks and shoes sound like hoof beats across the wooden floor.
And he probably does resemble a sickly Victorian child right now.
Dew gestures for his hand, where he deposits two oval shaped capsules filled with dark green liquid. He shudders as he recalls taking a shot of something called creme de menthe. He much preferred some other drink that Ifrit had - something called Fireball. It tasted like cinnamon hearts.
Dew hands him a small glass of water, he swallows hard, trying to keep the pills down.
Dew rips open a tiny sachet, white powder that smells of artificial fruit is dumped into a water bottle. He gives it a few shakes and then removes the lid again, but he just sets it on the tray.
He picks up another smaller pill, a pale pink tablet. Rain doesn’t even ask what it’s for, he just swallows.
“That one is for nausea.” He gestures at the water bottle that has clouded the water with an anemic orange shade, “And this is electrolytes. But no sense in drinking this until that kicks in. Won’t help if you throw it up again.”
Rain nods, he finds himself hanging on Dew’s every word. He seems to be an expert at this particular ritual. He wants to know why but can’t bring himself to ask.
Next, he picks up a cloth that’s been sitting in a bowl of water. He rings it out, the water droplets hit the surface and he’s again taken back to some begone time where some poor child has consumption and their mother is patting their head with a damp rag.
He’s not coughing though. He doesn’t have tuberculosis, he just has the worst hangover he’s ever experienced.
Dew moves to the side of the bed and adjusts the pillows, adding one from the other side. “Lean back.”
He obeys, wondering how Dew got his lumpy and flat pillows to feel so plush and comfortable.
He picks up the cloth and drapes it over Rain’s forehead and eyes. The sudden cold makes him flinch, but then he sinks into the bedding as relief washes over him. Maybe it’s the pills, maybe it’s the cloth. Maybe it’s Dew hovering so close that he can smell his shampoo. But he’s starting to feel better.
“I think I can drink the other stuff now.”
Dew removes the cloth and hands him the bottle. Suddenly he feels unbelievably thirsty. He drains the bottle at record speed.
Dew hovers conspicuously close to the garbage pail, but Rain just leans back against the pillows and sighs.
Rain stands and shuffles to the ensuite. The door clicks shut. Dew hears the buzz of an electric toothbrush, and the swooshing of mouthwash.
Rain emerges smelling of spearmint and climbs back into the bed slowly, gently, like he’s a guest in his own bedroom.
Dew dips the cloth back into the bowl of tepid water and presses it to his forehead again. He can feel the heat of Dew’s fingers through the fabric. Which is surely negating the purpose, but through the gap where his nose lifts the cloth away from his eyes, he can see down the sleeve of Dew’s shirt. The pearlescent sheen of pale flesh that he wants to taste.
His hands twitch, he would shake his head to dislodge the thoughts but that would be too conspicuous. Instead he closes his eyes and tries not to drown in yearning and instead enjoy the heat radiating from where Dew‘s thigh is pressed up against his hip as he sits on the edge of the bed.
Rain starts to feel drowsy. From the anti-nauseant, though he’s unaware of the cause. Just that he can’t help but sink a little deeper into the mattress. He wants to stay awake, to enjoy this for as long as it lasts, despite the cursed events that led to it.
But before he knows it, he’s asleep.
It’s heavy and dreamless.
He wakes up and it’s dark out from where he can see in the crack between the curtains. For all he knows, it could be 3:00 pm or 3:00am.
There’s a cool, diffused glow lighting up the room.
It’s Dew, leaning against the headboard, scrolling on his phone. The corners of his mouth are turned up, his eyes are crinkled at the corners, he’s smiling at something. But Rain doesn’t know what.
The light flickers, changing the shadows on his face. It’s a video, but he can’t hear it because Dew has headphones in.
He turns on to his side, toward Dew, who notices and quickly hits the sleep button on his phone, shrouding the room in darkness.
“I’m sorry - I didn’t mean…”
“No, no. It’s okay. I didn’t want to blind you into another headache.” That’s a lie, but it sounds reasonably convincing.
Perhaps it’s the haze of all the medication and whispers of remnant drunkenness, but he asks - “What were you watching?”
“Uh” there’s an edge of panic clinging to his voice.
“You don’t have to.”
“No, it’s okay. It’s - uh - it’s just videos from last night.”
Dew unlocks his phone and turns down the brightness before rotating the screen to landscape mode and holding it where Rain can see it.
Dew wonders if Rain can hear his pulse rattling like an overzealous alarm clock on vibrate mode.
He isn’t sure who’s holding the camera, because both he and Dew are in the frame. Sitting with their legs pressed together on the common room sofa. Dew has a bottle in his hand, Rain, a glass with some clear coloured liquid.
It’s hard to make out what they’re saying, the camera keeps moving around the room and then back again.
Dew holds his breath, he knows it occurs at 57 seconds, because he’s watched the video at least 20 times.
“So” Rain slurs - “Who’re you gonna kiss at midnight?”
Rain can’t help but slap a hand over his mouth. He knew he was embarrassing but it’s another thing to see it play out before his eyes.
“I dunno.” Dew replies. Or so Rain thinks, he can’t hear his voice so he tries to read his lips.
Rain on the other hand speaks with enough volume for both of them.
“Whatta you mean - don’t knowwwwwww?” He lets the word stretch out as if to give Dew more time to conceive a reply.
“I mean - no one I guess.”
Suddenly Rain’s jovial expression turns very serious. The camera operator is clearly invested in how this will play out, as Dew and Rain remain in shot. The video vibrates as it zooms closer.
“You can kiss me. If you want to.”
Dew’s head snaps to the left, suddenly staring at the neck of his empty bottle isn’t interesting anymore.
“I do. I do want to.”
Despite his inebriation, Rain twists his hands in his lap, indicating that his nerves are still a force to be reckoned with.
“Okay. I want you to. Too. I want to kiss you.”
Suddenly there’s booming laughter and Rain’s empty glass is plucked from his fingers. And so is he, hoisted up from his seat by who appears to be Ifrit.
“I’ll find you - at midnight.” Rain shouts, as he’s dragged away.
The video ends a few seconds later after the lens of the camera hits the floor.
The silence in the room is overbearing.
Rain isn’t sure what to say. Clearly he broke his promise. He didn’t even make it until midnight. Not only that, but Dew was stuck taking care of him all night.
“I’m sorry. That I missed it.”
“Don’t be.” Dew’s face is illuminated by the background of his phone screen. He’s smiling again. Maybe he’s relieved. Maybe he thinks it’s funny. Maybe Rain will jump off the abbey roof tomorrow.
Dew opens an app on his phone and scrolls, it’s filled with clock faces all reading different times.
He lands on one and taps to make it bigger.
“It’s still almost midnight somewhere.” He whispers.
Rain looks at the hands move, synchronized flicks that bring him closer than he’s ever been to having everything he’s wanted.
They all line up beneath the sans-serif digits 1 and 2.
Before he has a chance to fuck it up, Dew’s fingers curve around his jaw and suddenly everything is so warm, and soft. His lips move without premeditated thought. He knows he’s likely being eager, and messy.
But Dew doesn’t seem to mind. In fact he matches it, deepens the kiss further. It’s hard to breathe and he doesn’t know why, but he’d rather suffocate than stop.
Dew retreats an inch, his bony thumb still branding its shape to the side of his face.
You can call me Moth, they/he, transmasc, Canadian, 40, AuDHD disaster, fic writer, digital artist
Header from ghoulodont
Minors dni pretty please, but you can follow my art blog if you want @midnight-moth-draws
Arcane side blog @starry-eyed-moth
Do not repost my art, or I will hex you! (I mean repost to other sites, reblogging is encouraged.)
COMMISSION INFO HERE - Closed
AO3 is here
My tags are … in the tags
Currently writing/drawing romance and filth in the Ghost fandom. Asks are open - for fic requests art requests or whatever you feel like dropping in my ask box.
Info about what I will not write below the cut.
The list of what I won’t write is much shorter than what I will and it includes: hitting or spanking aka impact play, reader insert or y/n, forced fem (feminization is fine with me but not forced for humiliation sake, it makes me uncomfortable), I haven’t written much at all about papas, and it would probably be a struggle.
If you aren’t sure, please ask. There’s no judgment and maybe if I can’t fulfill your request someone else can, and if I can recommend someone I will.
I am accepting drawing prompts but much like writing I am trying to be selective and for the same reason. People have asked about commissions and yes I am open to it, and I will make a com sheet but I’m not quite ready.
Do you think Rain and Dew, or even just the ghouls in general, like to participate and silly little human holidays like Christmas or have their own little winter traditions , I feel like the aesthetics of the holiday are just really nice :) (it’s finally getting cold and the holiday thoughts are kicking in)
Hi Atlas!
I had some thoughts. Apparently too many…
So I think this is a complicated answer. I think that they would all gravitate towards the Pagan celebrations of Yule and winter solstice. Because those are more about symbolism than they are about Jesus’s bday.
However they aren’t immune to what goes on around them in the world. And they see the potential for some joy during the bleakest months of the year. They incorporate a little bit of the old with the new.
Below the cut cause I rambled …
I think Lapilus (you may know him as Ivy), and Mountain both connected early on in their shared love of early mornings. Welcoming back the sun on the morning after the Winter Solstice just resonated with them. Sometimes you might find Pebble stumbling out in pjs and a parka to join them. Sunny is right behind because obviously she can’t miss the opportunity to celebrate her namesake.
Of course Ifrit and Alpha enjoy the same symbolism in a different way by making sure every single fire in the Abbey is roaring at all times as their homage to the sun. They don’t do mornings.
Dew has a complicated relationship with holidays in general. He feels the void for nostalgia that he doesn’t actually have. Just this vague sense that he’s missing out. But bit by bit they all nudge him gently into participating.
He’s a behind the scenes kind of guy. So you’ll find him helping with the Yuletide purge and deep clean, or in the kitchen helping to prepare elaborate meals. Or generally lending a hand when he’s asked.
He’s asked most often by Rain, but more in the please for the love of Satan help get me through this kind of way. He does not enjoy the dark and the cold. It exacerbates what already plagues him. So Dew is always there with a warm drink, a hug, something silly and cheerful.
Rain does enjoy a good New Year’s party though and always ends up too drunk and crying and telling everyone how much he loves them.
Cumulus and Aurora bonded immediately over their shared love of decorating. Aurora loved Cumulus’s homemade bed canopy with the little fairy lights and yards and yards of sheer fabric. The wreath of dried flowers and lavender sprigs over her bed.
They are first to volunteer to decorate the Yule altar,, and just about every other space in the ghoul’s wing. Each year Cumulus Somehow manages to get their budget increased so she can create something even more lavish.
Aether and Omega relish in the indulgences this time of year brings. Because along with it comes all the ailments winter brings. The flu that the Siblings pass just by looking at each other, Zephyr’s wet cough and aching bones, and on occasion Mist’s frostbite.
They’ve tried to discourage her from going to the icy surface of the lake with an axe just to get a few minutes in the water but she is persistent…
Phantom and Bell, as per my previous post about their love of all things kitsch and tacky definitely throw up Christmas lights … everywhere. Zigzagging across the ceiling, along the winter frame, wrapped around the headboard and bed posts.
If it weren’t both a potential fire hazard and an energy waster he’d leave them up all year since it reminds him of the first time Bell showed him the snow.
Cirrus sort of doesn’t get the whole thing. She isn’t very spiritual, and she doesn’t understand why some of them stress themselves out and make a huge fuss.
But she does love to eat. And she’s a big fan of winter sports. Find her pulling around the kids and kits in a giant sled that Earth made many moons ago while they squeal in delight.
you know i will come in here off anon and beg for more belltom i am not afraid to sit here and be absolutely disgustingly annoying in order to hear more about them
You’re always more than welcome to ask me anything you want about them!
Uhhh off the top of my head, I think they find human cliches about romance and dating cute. I think their lives were so far from normal and so cruel to them that they can’t find it in them to scoff at it.
So you bet they’re giving each other heart shaped boxes filled with cheap chocolate and grocery store flowers wrapped in cellophane, cheesy greeting cards.
I don’t think they have any frame of reference to know that there are perhaps more sophisticated ways of expressing themselves. I also don’t think they care.
Phantom absolutely has a silly stuffed animal collection now. Bell has a string from one corner of the room to the other with all kinds of greeting cards and silly notes hanging by clothes pins.
I think they fully lean in to any and all ways to express how much they care about each other because there’s a part of them that wonders when it’ll all be ripped away.
They need to insulate themselves with as much joy, romance, love as possible to protect themselves from the nightmares.
Everyone thinks they’re gross. I think they are trying to create a life so vastly different from anything they’ve experienced the best way they know how and maybe as time goes on they’ll do better. They’ll explore the more subtle ways that they can show affection for one another.
But for now, getting a snoopy valentine or a comically larger hersheys kiss brings them more joy than some people experience in a life time.
New Summon Rain arriving topside and realizing that the seafood he's used to in the Pit doesn't actually exist on Earth. Poor picky boy has to adjust his palate to get used to what's available. Thoughts?
MAC! Okay maybe this got a little mushy. And maybe he found something he likes. Hint it’s not the mac and cheese.
NO CWs, just some fluffy hurt comfort.
Rain pushed around the sterile looking pink lumps around on his plate. He smiles with too many teeth and Mountain recoils slightly.
He watches Rain swallow without chewing, followed by large gulps of both water and wine.
“You don’t like it?” Mountain wonders where he went wrong, fresh baltic salmon, not even frozen. The best he could muster for a new water ghoul summon, and one of Dew’s favorites. Still is, he’s already pilfering a second piece from the steaming platter.
He pokes around at the seaweed salad, but in the end, the only thing he can really stomach is the rice. Bland, flavorless but at least not outright nauseating.
He excuses himself with a polite smile and a quick thank you to go back to his room and ruminate over just how very different everything is. He knows he doesn’t have a choice. He was warned, there were sacrifices to be made.
He wraps his arms and tail around his chest, a grounding squeeze to make him feel less - alone.
He manages to drift off for a little while, even though the sun is still casting long shadows across his new bedroom.
A gentle rap on the door wakes him. He unravels his tail and sits up, a pantomime of a well adjusted new summon. The last thing he wanted to do is worry anyone.
The smell hits his nose as soon as the door opens. Something starchy and rich that his olfactory senses have no memory off. His stomach is half empty and his mouth waters.
Dew slips through the doorway, hands busied with a tray, he closes the door with a slippered foot.
“I know, it’s not the same here.”
Rain feels the burn behind his eyes. He thought he could hold it together, but not with Dew staring at him like that. Eyes wide with empathy and concern.
“I know this isn’t what you’re used to, but it’s one of my favorite human foods. I thought you could try it. Only if you want to.”
Rain tilts hid head and peers up at the dish, something browned and crispy on top. He still doesn’t know what it is.
“It’s mac and cheese. Homemade! Not that radioactive stuff from a box.” Rain isn’t really sure what any of that means but it smells delicious and hunger is gnawing a hole in his stomach.
Dew makes his way over to the same side of the bed he’s seated on and hands him a fork.
“You don’t even have to try it if you don’t want to. I won’t be offended. There’s other things we can try.”
Rain smiles, and it’s genuine. He’s moved by the thoughtful gesture and feels like he’s going to cry again for an entirely different reason. He wasn’t sure how he’d be welcomed, or accepted.
He takes the fork and digs around in the dish and pulls away a forkful. Strings of cheese stretch all the way from the dish to his mouth. Dew pretends not to stare as he attempts to wind the cheese around his fork.
But he definitely stares when Rain finally takes a bite. Judging by his smile and the hint of violet now colouring his cheeks, he likes it.
“That’s SO GOOD.”
Dew holds the tray while Rain devours the remaining portion in record speed.
“That was like nothing I’ve ever eaten. There was no bones in it!”
Dew can’t help but laugh. He remembers how wonderfully strange he found the variety of food on earth. From pickles to potato chips, tacos to sushi. It’s never ending.
“Would you like some more?”
Rain nods eagerly.
“Okay, this time you have to try it with hot sauce.”
He stands to follow Dew, walking so close behind him Dew swears he feels his breath on the back of his neck. Now it’s Dew’s turn to blush.
