#bossuet

“Get back here, ‘Chetta, you’re going to catch a cold!” Joly cried.

Musichetta just hummed a tune and did a spin. The rain beat down against the umbrella Joly held, and Bossuet kept giving glances between Musichetta and Joly, as if deciding whether he wanted to join in his girlfriend’s fun or keep his boyfriend free of worry. Musichetta noticed the way his foot tapped in rhythm to the tune she was humming, like a metronome.

“I’ll be okay, Joly. A cold isn’t the end of the world.” She returned. With a grin still wide on her face, she jumped excitedly in a puddle left on the sidewalk, grimacing playfully when the cold water splashed up onto her pants. Bossuet gave an affectionate sigh and nudged Joly in the side.

“She’s going to ask to steal my coat on the way home, isn’t she?”

Joly huffed. Musichetta scrunched up her face and blew raspberries in the boys’ direction. “I can hear you, you know!”

“We know, dear.” Bossuet gave calmly, still eyeing the puddles like he wanted to jump in them as well. Joly was practically staring a hole into the side of his head, as if to say “don’t do it, if you both get sick i will end you.”

A moment of contemplation was given on the subject, Musichetta could tell. Eventually, though, when she called for him to join her, he seemed to finally pick his side.

“Bossuet, please? I’m so lonely. Come hang out with me.” Said Musichetta.

“Bossuetttttt.” Warned Joly.

Bossuet looked between the both of them, gave a sigh, and slowly stepped out from beneath the umbrella. Joly gave him a look of betrayal.

“You didn’t.” He gasped dramatically, placing a hand over his heart. Bossuet chuckled lightly.

“I did. Apologies, Joly.” He gave, and with that, he walked over to greet his girlfriend. She gave an excited, high pitched noise and threw her arms around his neck.

“Oh, I love you, I love you, I love you.” Musichetta sung. Bossuet placed one hand on her hip and twisted a strand of her hair around a finger on the other.

“I love you too, ‘Chetta,” He gave, lips moving against the crown of her head. It was a moment of their gentle swaying and Joly’s jealous watching before she pulled back, and Bossuet took the opportunity to drop his hands to his sides and cast his face towards the sky to engage in the sensation of the rain falling on his face. Musichetta wondered if being bald made the rain feel weird upon his head. She had asked him, before— he only chuckled and took a sip of his tea. He hadn’t answered.

“Jolyyy.” She tried again. He cast her a look that said everything his mouth was about to, but she attempted anyways. “Hang out with us. Please? Because you love us?”

“I’m going to catch a cold.” He repeated for maybe the millionth time.

“You won’t. You’ll be fine. Either way, if you do, it isn’t the end of the world. You won’t die from a cold.”

“You don’t know that. People used to die of it, you know.”

“Used to, darling.” Musichetta shook her head to send the water from her hair flying all over the place. “We have modern medicine. You’re a doctor. You should know this.”

Joly just gave a presumptious ‘hmph!’ noise, walking over to the side of the walkway that had a collection of rocks. As he crouched down to examine them, Musichetta had hardly started another plea before coming to his side to see what he was looking at.

“What’cha lookin’ at?”

“Rocks.”

“Why?”

“I need to put one in the umbrella. It’ll fly off in this wind if there’s not something weighing it down.” He huffed. Musichetta frowned, confused, before realization hit her and her face lit up.

“You’re joining us?!” She cheered. He just gave a faint smile in return.

“Yes, you’ve won my heart over. Now, help me find an adequate rock.”

“Bossuet!” She called, crouching down beside Joly. “We’re rock hunting!”

He came to her side quickly, crouching down beside the two. “Huh? Why are we rock hunting?”

“Joly’s going to join us.” She smiled. “He wants to weigh down the umbrella with a rock. We’re finding an adequate one.”

“Oh, how fun!”

Over the course of the next five minutes, Bossuet and Musichetta had shown a couple of rocks to Joly, and after fawning over their smoothness or color, he had discarded them with a complaint about how they weren’t heavy enough, or how they had sharp edges that would rip the umbrella.

Eventually, though, Bossuet held out a stone in both hands. It was white. Or, near-white, with little grey markings. It was big enough to occupy both of Bossuet’s relatively large hands as it glistened with water atop its smooth surface. Joly made a noise of excitement at the sight of it.

“Oh, that’s gorgeous! And so smooth! This is it. This is it!”

Bossuet grinned at the sight of excitement upon his lover’s face, and Musichetta had to admit she did the same. When Joly upturned the umbrella to place it on the ground, wincing at the rain finally hitting him and his dry clothes, Bossuet gently lowered the rock into the upside-down umbrella to hold it steady while Joly didn’t attend to it.