Chapter Text
It starts small.
A flicker of something off in his body, barely noticeable. His stomach twists after breakfast, though he only picked at half a slice of toast. There's a tremble in his fingers while he tunes his bass before morning rehearsals. The scent of Mountain's cinnamon bun makes him gag unexpectedly, and he has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from reacting. He tells himself it’s nerves, lack of sleep, maybe too much wine after one of Cirrus’ midnight card games, tour prep always gets intense. But it doesn't stop.
By the end of the week, Rain is waking up with a sour taste in his mouth, dragging himself out of bed while the sun barely crests the edge of the chapel walls. He dry heaves into the sink, then sits on the bathroom floor, forehead pressed to the cool tile. Five minutes. Ten. He loses time in the fog of nausea.
He doesn’t mention it.
Not when Dew slings an arm around him in the hallway and calls him fishboy. Not when Phantom jokes that he looks like he hasn’t slept in days. Not even when Aurora offers him her extra protein bar and Cirrus asks quietly, “Rain, you good?” nudging him after practice when he nearly drops his bass.
He gives her a thin smile, not quite convincing. “Just... dizzy. Low blood sugar.”
She arches her brow. “You didn’t eat again, did you?”
“Wasn’t hungry.”
That’s not a lie. He hasn’t been hungry in days.
He doesn’t mention the way his thoughts stick and spin and cycle back to that night though. He remembers it too clearly, it had been chaotic. Messy. Beautiful. Dew’s mouth. Dew’s hands. Dew’s weight on him, pinning the water ghoul. Dew inside him. No barriers. No protection. He’d begged and moaned for it. He remembers that, too. He’d asked for it. And now something inside him was changing.
Rain’s stomach turns.
By the tenth day, Rain’s exhausted, lightheaded, always hungry but unable to eat more than a few bites at a time. He’s lost weight, his uniform hangs a little looser around his waist, and his cheeks have gone a little hollow.
He starts rehearsing excuses. Blames the weather, food sensitivities, maybe a stomach bug. He starts avoiding meals with the pack. Phantom notices.
“Dude,” they say one afternoon, “you literally just stared at that sandwich for ten minutes.”
Rain shrugs. “Wasn’t hungry.”
Phantom looks unconvinced, but they don’t push. It’s Cirrus who watches him closest. Her eyes are too sharp, too knowing. Rain doesn’t meet them anymore.
—
The night before it happens, Rain dreams of the ocean.
It’s vast, endless, peaceful. He floats on his back in dark saltwater, the sky above him grey and heavy. Something tugs at him, not pulling him under, but anchoring him, curling warmth around his core. When he wakes, his hand is on his stomach, his fingers are trembling.
He doesn’t eat that morning. He doesn’t go to rehearsal either. Instead he leaves the Abbey and walks for miles until he finds a run-down gas station off the road. His hood pulled low, and his sunglasses on, he walks in and buys a bottle of water, a pack of gum, and…
A test.
Just in case. Just to prove himself wrong.