love's hallow'd temple, this soft bed
Xavier takes care of you when you are very, very sick
[Title is from John Donne’s “Elegy 19: To His Mistress Going to Bed”]
content warnings: non-explicit mentions of vomit
Ი𐑼 ♪⋆.✮ ─────────────────── ★ ˙ ̟｡
You dig the heels of your palms into your eye sockets in an attempt to conserve what little moisture remains in them. Goddamm, your eyes feel like they’re on fire. As if sleep deprivation wasn’t enough, your hopelessly dry eyes do nothing to aid your current dilemma. You can hardly write a paragraph of your report before the words blur into one another. Pair that with a splitting headache, and you’re fast-tracking your way to hell. Dimming the break room lights does nothing to dampen your raging headache, just as wearing noise cancelling headphones does little to ease the incessant ringing in your ears. Simply put, you are in no condition to work.
Your eyes drift to the clock on the wall. One hour and thirty seven minutes. There's only one hour and thirty seven minutes until you get off work. Should be fine, right?
You are very, very wrong.
Every agonizing moment you spend glued to your chair makes your head spin even more. Your vision blurs, your heart aches, and you feel the weight of a fever weighing down on your limbs as you shrug on your knitted cardigan. Your cold symptoms haven’t subsided at all, but your will to live has. The cup of hot tea your colleague brought you sits on your desk, soft wisps of steam rising from its surface. You take a sip in hopes of healing that godawful feeling in your throat. To your dismay, it has no effect. Instead of the warmth of orange pekoe permeating your body, a chill settles in your gums. What does that even mean?? You’re drinking hot tea; how the hell are your teeth cold?
You hardly remember how you spend the remainder of your time before clocking out. Somehow, in the midst of your sickened daze, you manage to bundle yourself up warmly and head out. Your breath comes out in strained huffs, clouding white before you in the darkness. Instantly, you’re ambushed by a blizzard.
You shut the door and return inside.
Another sigh escapes your lips, this time carrying the weight of your exhaustion. How are you supposed to make it home in this state? You didn’t expect it to be this cold out. Even with your layered clothes, there’s no way for you to get home unscathed. With your current condition, it won’t take long for you to pass out on the streets and just about die of hypothermia in the snow. Frozen forever with a stupid expression eternally etched onto your face… it’s horrible to even imagine. You’re meant to patrol the streets of Linkon, not decorate them as some avant-garde ice sculpture. But then again, wouldn’t that mean you were still serving the community in one way or another…? Now that you think about it, it doesn’t seem allthat bad…
A light tap on your shoulder, barely perceptible under your many warm layers, draws you back to reality.
Your gaze settles on the blinding radiance of the heaven-sent saviour before you: your car-owning upstairs neighbour, Xavier.
“Yes,” you muster as nonchalantly as possible. You can’t help but betray the excitement wracking your body, forcibly restraining your heart from doing flips in your chest. “How did you know?”
His ash-blond hair bobs as he nods. “You seemed too lightly dressed for a blizzard. I thought maybe you didn’t check the weather forecast today.”
You nod in embarrassment.
He cocks his head in acknowledgment. “Wait here.”
A draft of cold air swats at your face before disappearing with Xavier. Your eyes trace the outline of his shrinking silhouette through the glass door, softened by the flurry of snow that soon consumes him. A few minutes later, you are greeted by an emerging speck of white, the sleek exterior of his car, glistening in the snow. You climb into the passenger seat and practically melt as the warmth of a working heating system envelopes you.
“Are you that cold?” Xavier asks at your theatrics.
“I don’t think the heating in my apartment is working well,” you admit. “Either that, or I’m just too cold for it to have any effect.”
With the day behind you, exhaustion settles into your joints. Some unseen force weighs down your body. Your skull feels like it’s made out of cement. Leaning against the car window, you watch your breath cloud the glass. The slight chill from outside permeates the pane, giving your burning body some reprieve from the heat. It’s dead in the middle of winter, and you know the bustling streets will only be busier in the next few weeks when Christmas and New Year wrap up your year’s work as a Hunter. The streets of Linkon are already lined with vendors setting up stalls for the holiday markets, and they’ll be teeming with visitors from near and afar soon enough. You should be planning the Association’s Christmas party right now, not feeling like you’re on the verge of puking in the passenger seat of Xavier’s car.
“We’re here.” Xavier gives you a light pat on your shoulder, and it takes all the effort you can muster to unstick yourself from the cool glass. Sensing your struggle, he cordially escorts you out of the car. You’re practically stumbling on your way to the entrance, but he doesn’t complain. He doesn’t protest when you root your legs to the ground and take long, slow strides to avoid slipping on the ice. Xavier lets you use him as a crutch, supporting your back and arm with his strong grasp.
“Thanks for the ride,” you say as you watch the elevator slowly ascend to your floor. Except you’re so out of it that an incoherent string of babble escapes your mouth instead.
Xavier simply laughs and reaches for your hand. He laces his fingers with yours, the clear blue of his gaze calm and serene like still lakes.
“Why don’t… you come sleep at my place instead?”
Xavier sets the last of your bags in his bedroom. You feel a twinge of guilt for making him carry a week’s worth of clothes and other utilities, but he merely shakes his head and orders you to rest, assuring you that he’d gladly go back down and get anything else you needed. You relented, too drained to protest his excessive kindness.
After making room assignments (you get his room, of course, and he gets the living room couch), Xavier orders you porridge for dinner. You pretend not to notice him guiltily creeping back to the living room to eat his family-size fried chicken meal purely out of consideration. Not that you’d have the strength to bite through chicken, anyways. With dinner out of the way, you take a quick shower and change into your pajamas. Xavier’s freshly washed sheets look welcoming enough. You all but sink into the fluffy comforter, drowning in the softness of it. Finally, some reprieve from the ache of incoming illness. You nestle yourself into the sheets, inhaling the scent of fresh linen and his detergent. It’s comforting. It’s very... him.
From the kitchen, the faint sputter of a kettle stops, succeeded by the crescendo of footfalls that stop just outside the room. Xavier doesn’t enter until you beckon him to.
“How are you feeling?” he asks, setting down a steaming cup of tea by your bedside.
“Not good,” you mumble. You readjust in bed, sitting up as Xavier fluffs some pillows to support your back.
He presses the back of his palm to your forehead and frowns at the heat of it. “You’re burning up. Rest well, okay? I made some tea with honey to help with your throat. Don’t be afraid to ask for anything, alright? I'll do whatever I can to make you feel better.”
Your head slumps into a weak nod. He takes your hand, startled slightly by the iciness that contrasts your body temperature, and nuzzles it. His warmth lingers on your palm, and you can’t help but lean into it further. You wrap your arms around his torso, burying your face into his cardigan before he can turn to leave. You know he has better things to do, but you can’t bear to let him go just yet.
“I’m sorry for being unreasonable,” you mumble into his cardigan.
Xavier doesn’t question your clinginess; he concedes to your whims instead. “It’s okay for a sick person to be unreasonable.”
The mattress dips with his weight as he situates himself by the edge of the bed next to you. You quietly rest your head on his chest and let the slow beats of his heart lull you to sleep.
When you wake from your peaceful slumber, Xavier is gone. The warmth of his touch is replaced by a deathly chill that wracks your body, and it takes everything you have in you to drag your heavy limbs out of bed and to the washroom before it’s too late. Your body convulses with the premonition of the action, and before you know it, you’re kneeling on the washroom floor vomiting your last meal over the toilet bowl. The gut-wrenching exertion leaves you shaking and crying, your frigid body only growing colder with every passing moment. Your regurgitation spills onto the floor regardless of your attempt to make as little of a mess as possible. Distressed at the mess, you soak some toilet paper under the sink and try to clean, only for your bleary vision and weakened body to hinder your efforts. You end up slouched against the counter on the floor, your knees drawn to your chest for some warmth.
In the midst of your misery, the washroom light turns on. With your pitiful state illuminated, you shamefully keep your head down. Xavier kneels on the floor in front of you and you feel his arms wrap around you. He rubs soothing circles onto your back, comforting you without asking questions.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to… I’ll clean, I’m sorry,” you stammer, trying to catch your breath. “I’m sorry for being a bother. I didn’t mean to wake you up–”
“You’re not a bother,” Xavier sternly cuts you off before you can finish. He pushes your hair away from your face and holds your gaze. “I asked you to come stay with me because I wanted to take care of you. Don’t ever think you’re being a bother, okay? I’ll clean up. Focus on resting. I’ll be here with you all the way.”
You stop trembling in his strong embrace.
Xavier stays true to his word as he wipes your face with a wet towel and helps you change into clean clothes. He then scoops you up, the back of your legs rocking against the crook of his elbow. His other arm supports your back, his hand softly cradling your head against his chest as he carries you to his bedroom. Then, he tucks you in with a kiss and a quick I’ll be back before leaving to clean.
It takes some effort, but you brave the exhaustion eating at you until the bedroom door creaks. Time passes excruciatingly slowly until you hear a soft knock at the door. Xavier peeks in, light spilling across the room when he sees you staring back at him in the dark.
“Sorry, did I wake you? I was trying to be as quiet as possible.”
“No, it’s okay. I wanted to wait for you.”
His ears blush slightly at your words. Under the soft glow of the corridor light, you catch a glimpse of water droplets beading at the tips of his hair. Did he rush back to you without even drying his hair? You beckon Xavier towards you and he obediently sits at the edge of the bed. Pulling the towel off his shoulder, you tug it over his head.
“Sit still,” you command him, and he relaxes immediately at your words.
You use what little strength you have to tousle his hair as a small thank-you for his efforts.
“You don’t have to do this. I’d rather you rest instead.”
He grumbles at your defiance. “Really, you should rest. You’re being unreasonable.”
“Who was it that said it was fine for sick people to be unreasonable?” you ask, mussing his mostly-dry hair with your hand. Good enough.
“I did say that,” he says, sighing in resignation. “So, what would you like me to do? As a thank you for drying my hair.”
You toss the damp towel onto Xavier’s lap and hold his face, pulling it upwards until his gaze meets yours. “Stay with me for tonight. I don’t want to be alone.”
A grin creeps onto his face, and he lets out a soft laugh. “Of course. I’m not going anywhere.”
“Good.” You give him a curt nod and poke his cheek until he obliges. “You took a shower knowing I’d ask you to stay with me, right?”
He only gives you a sly smile in response.
Xavier crawls into bed next to you and pulls you into his embrace once more. He nestles your head against his shoulder and presses a kiss against your forehead. Your face flushes, but you attribute the sudden rise in body temperature to your illness. Once you're both comfortably situated in bed, you tug the comforter, now cold from being unused for so long, over you both. Xavier hugs you tighter against his chest, sharing his warmth with you. He really wasn't going anywhere.
Sunlight streams through the curtain, marking the beginning of a new day in Linkon. It casts a golden sheen over Xavier's silvery hair. Everywhere he goes, he seems to be basked in light. You let out a quiet giggle at the sight of it, prompting Xavier to give you a questioning look. “Isn’t it funny? The rest of the world is just waking up, but we’re going to sleep.”
“Nevermind them,” he says, the low rumble of his words pressed against your ear. Sleep has already begun to set into his voice. “It’s just us here. Good night, my starlight.”
