Work Text:
As you shut off the water – all the grime from a long day of training washed away – you realize that the sound of pounding water was not entirely coming from inside the shower.
Your first thought after this realization is of Silas. He is often your first thought, and that’s the way it should be.
Your necromancer has never liked the rain, especially not when it’s as heavy as this evening. He finds the sound of it clattering against the windows overstimulating, and you suspect that you will find him in the library where he often retreats during a storm, as far from a window as he can get, paging through a book of hymns.
You’d always wondered why he gravitated to those during rain, and when you’d finally asked him last year he’d told you that he can hear the songs in his head, and if he focuses enough the raindrops fade into the background.
His mind has always fascinated you.
You, however, love the rain, and you enjoy the rising cacophony of it as you dry off and get dressed, musing on what to make for dinner.
When you emerge from the bedroom you find him exactly where you’d anticipated: curled up in the chair in the corner of the library, hymn book in hand.
You lean in the doorway for a moment, studying his face as his eyes cross the page slowly, lips twitching ever so slightly.
“Ever tried singing aloud? Maybe that would help even more.”
He glances up at you, pauses briefly, and continues without response.
You give a little shrug and head for the kitchen to start dinner.
A minute later the soft lows of Silas’ voice join the chorus of the storm, and you smile and close your eyes a moment to listen.