If you have time, can I please ask for “kiss at dawn” for Petra x Claude?
(still challenging myself to work through my nearly year-old backlog of prompts. Sorry for the wait!)
There was a faint creak outside Claude’s dorm window. The sound roused him right away, one hand already gripping the dagger under his pillow. He lay still for a few heartbeats. Listening.
Another creak. A tap at his window. A faint mumble in a language he didn’t recognize. Claude sat up as the words registered in his sleepy mind, his panic already fading. Muffled as it was by the glass, he recognized that voice, and it belonged to no assassin.
Sure enough, Claude spotted a familiar face on the other side of the window. They locked eyes with him. He waved with the hand not still clutching his dagger. Crossing the room, Claude undid the lock and slid his window open with a, “Rough night, Petra?”
Petra sat balanced on his windowsill with ease that belonged to a songbird. “I am sorry for waking you,” she said, as if appearing outside his window in her sleep clothes was mildly rude instead of downright strange. “My target is the roof.”
“What’s on the roof?”
“Nothing is there. I want to be there.”
Claude considered this. “Alright. I’ll come too.”
Petra laughed. “You cannot even be climbing trees! Climbing to roofs has more difficulty.”
“I guess that’s true. Then why don’t you make my room your target instead? We can talk about what’s wrong.”
Petra’s smile faded. Just behind her, the sky was tinged green, caught between night and dawn. “What has you thinking something is wrong?” Petra asked, eyes not meeting his.
Claude shrugged. “Up at odd hours. Climbing buildings. Doesn’t sound like the Petra I know.” Stowing his dagger on his nightstand, Claude leaned over the window frame, cool evening air hitting his face as he watched Petra.
“I was... having good dreams tonight. Dreams of home. When I have those, I always wake with sadness.” Petra ran her fingers down her braid, rubbing the end between her thumb and pointer finger. One leg swung absently under the window and made Claude wonder how far the fall was to the first floor. “The roof is a good place for thinking,” she finished.
“I see,” Claude said thoughtfully. The roof wouldn’t have been his first choice, but he understood wanting privacy when you’re feeling vulnerable. “Tell you what. Join me for breakfast in a few hours. I’ll have some strong tea ready for you.” He smiled. “Can’t have our newest Deer falling asleep in class, can we?”
Petra’s lip quirked up and her eyes softened. In fact, if Claude were an obnoxious poet like Lorenz, he might have said they shined in the predawn light. “I would be liking that grately.”
“Sorry to interrupt your climb.”
“Sorry for making my climb over your window.”
“It’s fine,” Claude said. “If you’re ever too tired to get to the roof, you can always stop in here. I’ll just be really quiet and let you think.”
She laughed. Before Claude could take pride in that, Petra closed the already scant distance between them and placed the lightest of kisses on Claude’s unprepared lips. “You have my thanks,” she said with a grin. Getting gracefully to her feet, Petra reached above Claude’s window and hoisted herself up. Then she was gone.
The sun was struggling into the sky by the time Claude’s mind returned. He shook his head, ducked back inside, and shut the window. The roof might be Petra’s preferred place to think-- but Claude got a good amount of thinking done in the few hours before breakfast without moving from his bed.
