Chapter Text
“Soooo,” Mist drawls, snapping him out of his wandering thoughts by waving webbed fingers entirely too close to his face, “what’s Dew’s?”
“Yeah, Rain,” Ifrit chimes in, a hint of mischief in his eyes. He flicks at the surface of the lake, sending droplets of water up Rain’s chest. “What is Dew’s?”
His eyes dart back and forth between the pair, blinking dumbly. He doesn't have a clue what they're on about. “Uhh, what's Dew’s what?”
“What’s— were you even listening? Or were you too busy daydreaming?” Ifrit smirks, sharing a look with Mist that Rain doesn't have the energy to decipher right now. “We’re asking what his love language is.”
“I wasn't daydreaming,” Rain grumbles, ignoring the way they share that stupid look again - like they’re in on some big secret and he isn’t. He was absolutely not listening to a word they said, though, so they’ve got him there. “And what the fuck is a love language anyway?”
Mist throws her arms up in frustration, throwing her head back with a dramatic groan. She shoots a spurt of water directly into his face, sending Ifrit into a fit of laughter beside her as Rain splutters from the unexpected drenching. “Were you zoned out for that whole conversation?” She asks, eyes wide and disbelieving.
“Yeah,” Rain ducks his head, face heating with embarrassment, “yeah, sorry. You said something about Zephyr and gifts, which reminded me of the rock I found the other morning that I hid over there. I keep forgetting to pick it up so I can give it to Dew.”
They both blink at him, eyebrows raised like he’s just said something strange. Satan below, they’re being so weird right now. He looks back out across the lake to where he was staring before, in the direction of his early morning find. It is a really nice rock, a beautiful piece of blue jasper, and he knows Dew will love it. It reminds him of the one he found on tour a couple of months ago, though that was red, that now sits proudly atop Dewdrop’s dresser.
“Dude. Just go get it.” Mist laughs, lunging at him and pushing him under the water by his shoulders.
He immediately darts off, not needing to be told a second time, swimming down to the bottom of the lake as fast as he can. He remembers exactly where he buried it, in the sand just to the left of a handful of mismatched stones that he knows are supposed to make a heart shape, but really make more of a lumpy circle. He digs at the ground with cupped hands until he finds it, and makes a quick attempt at cleaning it off with his fingers – getting rid of as much of the muddy sand as he can before making his way back to his friends.
He breaches the surface, flashing the rock at Mist and Ifrit in triumph, only to find them not paying any attention. Too busy trying to eat each other alive, it would seem. He rolls his eyes, swimming to the shore and finding his pile of clothes. This is why he very rarely comes down here with the pair of them alone. Or with Sunny, Satanas , do not get him started on the three of them together.
He retreats to his bedroom, stopping on the way to poke his head in and see Dew. The fire ghoul lies in the middle of his bed, curled up and fast asleep, buried under a pile of blankets. Rain had figured as much. Dew doesn't usually wake before 10, so there’s still an hour or two until he gets up, but the water ghoul always makes sure to stop by anyway. Rain has tried to get him up early before, to come with him on a morning swim, but had learned very quickly that Dewdrop is not a morning creature. The withering glare that he’d received had him immediately regretting his actions, and he’s never made the same mistake twice.
Rain steps under the warm spray of his shower, washing away the thin layer of grime that always seems to stick after spending an extended period of time in the lake. He takes the piece of jasper in with him, too, washing it clean with gentle fingers until he’s sure that all the muddy sand is gone. He half-heartedly dries himself off with a towel, running it through his hair just enough to stop it from incessantly dripping all over his clothes, then rummages through his drawer for some comfies. A pair of pyjama pants and a t-shirt that's absolutely too small for him (so, Dewdrop’s), not bothering with ‘actual’ clothing when his only plan for the day is to laze around the den.
He sets the rock down on his nightstand and digs through the mess of the drawer to find his laptop.
Which, to his annoyance, is
right
at the bottom – buried underneath the accumulation of random things he keeps stored away in there; a tangle of chargers and loose wires he refuses to believe all belong to him, a lego figurine he
stole
borrowed after a round of sleep deprived ‘truth or dare’ on tour, and a pile of polaroids, a mix from every tour he’s been on, that are mostly of Dew.
He flops down onto his bed, rearranging long limbs until he’s comfortable, propped up against the pillows with his legs crossed beneath him. He’s going to figure out what the fuck a love language is.
– – – – – – – –
What was supposed to be a quick ten minute blip in his day turns into an hour-long research binge, but the more he reads the more a plan slowly comes together in his mind. He doesn’t know Dewdrop’s love language, but he can find out! All he has to do is run a simple test (in secret of course, nobody else has to know what he’s doing) over the course of the next five weeks, one ‘love language’ per week. He’ll take notes, collect sufficient data, and by the end of the five weeks he’ll go over his findings and draw a conclusion on which one is Dew’s. It’s a flawless plan, truly, and he’s very proud of it.
He shuts off his laptop and shoves it back into his bedside drawer, standing up to stretch out stiff limbs. The first week, this week, will be gifts. And it’s thankfully a Sunday, meaning he can start each week at its beginning, so the stars have really aligned for him and his ‘experiment’. He grabs the piece of jasper from his bedside table and heads for the door. He’ll need a notebook, he thinks, to record his thoughts and findings. He could probably just use his phone, or even his laptop, but Dew frequently uses both, and he doesn't want to take the risk of getting caught. He knows Copia keeps a stock of spare, for whatever reason, so at least he won’t have to go scrounging around the Ministry for one.
He silently slips into Dew’s room, tiptoeing over to place the jasper on his bedside table. The fire ghoul stirs in his sleep, turning towards Rain, and the water ghoul holds his breath – careful not to move a muscle until Dew settles again. He knows the other ghoul was up until a ridiculous time this morning, evidenced by a text he’d sent to Rain with a timestamp of 5:26, so he doesn't want to wake him, wants him to get as much sleep as he can before his body forces him to get up for the day.
Rain creeps back to the door, shutting it behind him with a whispered click . There’s no sign of Copia in his office, which doesn't come as much of a surprise. Sister Imperator's death has him busier than ever; and between all of the added responsibilities his new role has given him, and dealing with the new Papa, he’s been a rare sight around the Ministry recently. The ghoul leaves a sticky note on the desk to let him know he’s taken one, then grabs a spare notebook from the box. He seriously doesn't know why the man keeps so many, but he’s not going to complain, not when it’s saving him a hunt around the abbey.
He makes his way to the library for some quiet, the one place he knows Dew won’t sneak up on him, scared shitless by the siblings at the desk who take the library rules very seriously. He needs to solidify his plan, make it concrete. He needs to make a guideline for each week so that he’s not entirely winging it, he doesn't want to go into this completely clueless.