"Do you want me to wash your hair?" for rayllum?
The Starscraper, despite its intrigue and mystery, has bathrooms like anywhere else, although Rayla knocks first before entering her and Callum's quarters at all.
They'd been given a room and ensuite to share upon arrival, and while she'd blushed a little leaving her parents to come here, well... She was grown and in love. There wasn't much they could say, even if Runaan glowered.
Besides, however much Callum had said he was okay after the de-coining, she knew he'd been quiet and lightheaded. Which was why, after a few seconds of no reply, she pushed their door open and tentatively poked her head in.
"Callum?"
He was standing by the bed, shirtless (she ignored the heat in her cheeks) and turned to the side, seemingly looking at his reflection in the mirror leaning up against the far wall. Even from this angle, circular scars were evident on his upper chest, one looking more like a bite mark near his abdomen—souvenirs from Finnegrin's ship, and Rayla's stomach churned like the sea at the thought he'd ever been in that much pain.
It took a second, but then Callum noticed her, shifting to face her. His new white shock of hair, threaded into one of the locks that curved over his face, hung over his eyes. Another unpleasant souvenir from the de-coining spell. Callum had said the coins had some residual dark magic tainting, that Star magic was ancient and unpredictable—that the white hair wasn't from actual dark magic itself, but... Rayla didn't know how much she believed him.
Or how much he believes himself, given the look in his eyes.
She crosses the room in three quick strides, her discomfort and distraction on the back burner as she places a hand on his shoulder, lifting his face to hers. "Least we match," she says, brushing back the white. His lips twitch. "Were you getting ready to bathe?"
She can't think of another reason he'd be taking his clothes off. At least not one that makes sense outside of foolish, distracting fantasies—
He nods, blushing a bit himself. "Yeah." He rubs the back of his neck, grimacing. The magic had taken a toll on his body too. "Just got lost in thought."
She thinks of how he'll have to reach up and behind if intends to wash his back, or... "I could join you," she says and then quickly clarifies, "to—outside the tub, I mean. To wash your hair. If you want."
Primals above she was such a—
Callum softens and leans into her. "That'd be nice," he admits, even if the flush doesn't leave either of their faces.
She still turns away as he fully disrobes, waiting till he lets her know he's fully in the water, light steam rising from the tub before she turns back around and settles behind the rim on a spare chair. She focuses on washing his hair while he wipes a rag along his chest, pleased when she can hear him hum happily—maybe even murmuring some more of that sweet, silly, Ocean arcanum poetry under his breath—a sure sign that he's finally relaxing.
She brushes back his hair, running her sudsy fingers through the white streak, and he sits up more along the rim, craning his neck to glance at her.
"There's an Ocean poem, y'know," he says, forcing nonchalantness, his fingers tapping nervously. "Reminded me of some stuff I've read about the Moon arcanum. About how water, or the moon, changes, but..."
"It's still always inherently the same," she says, "no matter its appearance?"
He nods. She rinses out his hair and the leans over to kiss his forehead, and then the white streak for good measure.
"I think that's true," she murmurs, "but I think you'd know better than me, Mister Mage."
Callum smiles and then settles under her hands, sighing. "Thank you, Rayla."
She thinks of how he brought her back from the brink, when he was just the ghost inside her head that she didn't want, persistent and caring as always. How could she think anything else of him? How could she offer anything less in return?
She reaches forward and takes his hand, the nervous tapping quelled. "Always."
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