même dans un sommeil éternel

Standing in the half foot of snow on your doorstep, you try not to gape as Neuvillette calmly powerwashes your car out of its heavy white cage until it is dripping clean. Where was he getting that water pressure from? Did he just carry an electric motor in his sleeves?

He turns around with an accomplished smile, arms still empty. "What do you think?"

Blinking, you push your feet through the snow covered path to reach him in the driveway. "I think it's amazing! You saved me, I didn't know how I was going to get it all off!"

In your excitement, you stumble in the snow and yelp, body bracing for an icy faceplant. Neuvillette reaches out to catch you, but with the dense snow still carpeting the rest of your driveway, his knees bend forward. He ends up kneeling on the cement, hands supporting your shoulders as you hang over him, arms outstretched mid-fall.

"O-oh, I uh. Sorry. Thank you." You barely manage to push the words out, unaware of what you're saying. The embarrassment is scrambling your brain more than the eggs you had for breakfast. Plus the breathtaking sight of Neuvillette looking up at you as he kneels in the snow, navy blue coat spread out like butterfly wings, is not helpful. Who knew it was possible for someone to hold the ocean in their eyes?

Clearing his throat, Neuvillette slowly moves to stand up, holding your elbows with his hands to steady you back on your feet as he does. "No, I apologize. I should have cleared the snow here first."

His long hair brushes against your fingers, silky soft, and you can't help noticing the pink flush in his cheeks. Well, it wouldn't do to have your helpful neighbor freezing in the winter cold after doing you a favor.

"It's alright, I really should have shoveled the path earlier. But you must be cold with your clothes wet from the snow! Please, come in and have a hot cup of tea, it's the least I could do."

Your heart skips a beat when you see Neuvillette's expression blossom, like a flower finally unfurling its petals in the warm morning sunlight. As he enters your house, winter coat brushing your shoulder, you mentally thank yourself for making that post on the neighborhood online bulletin this morning.

Looking for a powerwasher to borrow for the afternoon! Will pick up in person.

It certainly feels like you were picked up today - your spirits, that is. And so will someone else, if you have any say in the matter. Moving to this neighborhood might be the best decision you made all year.

Then, you open your eyes to see Alhaitham’s arms and a dusty book in his hands, floating right above you. Ah. You’re lying down. And you’re lying down on… oh shit. You groan and try to lift yourself up, but that only causes the pain in your torso to spike, so you drop your head miserably back onto Alhaitham’s lap.

“Get out of my house,” you manage to say.

“You’re in my house,” he replies calmly, flipping a page.

“That’s even worse, you know that?”

Now that your consciousness and your sensation are returning, you can make out a little more about the situation. You’re on Alhaitham’s living room couch, and there’s a blanket pulled across your legs. Your lips are dry and cracked, and you lick them with your swollen tongue in vain. Even the smallest movement sends fresh pain throbbing through your body like waves. There are bandages on your arms, and more peeking under the hem of your shirt. 

“You shouldn’t move,” Alhaitham says. “You were badly injured when you were found. I can give you the full report from the doctor later, but it should suffice for now to know that the most major wound was on your torso, on top of several injured organs. The blood loss was substantial.”

“Wow. Thanks for telling me I almost died. But you’re not addressing the most important question.”

“Which is?”

“Why am I on your lap?” you say.

“Because you kept tossing in your sleep and disturbing your wounds. You wouldn’t calm down unless I was holding your hand, but since that was inconvenient for me, I moved you to my lap instead. You slept quite fitfully.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, mouth puckering like you’ve bitten a sour zaytun peach. “Are you serious right now?” 

“Yes.”

You would scream, but that would only jostle your wounds. You were never going to live this down. You wouldn’t calm down unless Alhaitham, of all people, held your hand? Like you were some child, clinging to the hands of their mother, or worse, some romantic sap who couldn’t stand to be without him, even unconsciously? Honestly, you’d have preferred if your assailant had finished the job instead of leaving you to die of a slow humiliation on Alhaitham’s lap. With any luck, your wounds will finish you off instead.

Honestly, it’s not as if Alhaitham hasn’t seen you in more vulnerable and decidedly inappropriate situations, but there was a strange intimacy to laying on his lap that set your teeth on edge. You’re exposed like this. You’d have a hard time defending yourself if Alhaitham, for whatever reason, decided to go rogue and murder you like a crazed maniac. 

But more than that, you’re the one who usually initiates things in your relationship. You’re the one who reaches out first, and Alhaitham either accepts your advances or wards you off with his blunt demeanor. There’s no guesswork with him, which you appreciate. But this is the first time you’ve ever seen Alhaitham willingly let someone touch him like this, and for such a prolonged period of time. Sure, you’re injured, but it feels unsettling, to say the least. 

What made him treat you so differently? 

It’s a strange little reverse of the situation only a month or so prior, when he had been the one to show up injured at your doorstep. Now, you’re the one who needs his aid, and it’s not a position you like being in. People are normally in your debt, not the other way around. 

“What happened?” you mumble.

“That’s what I thought you could tell me.”

You cast your thoughts back, blindly fishing in the murky waters of your memory. What had happened? There was a new shipment of rare books coming in, some ancient poetry excavated in the desert, and you couldn’t resist the opportunity to snag some for yourself. But the dealer had been shifty and you didn’t like the look in his eyes. Years of intuition told you this was a rotten deal. When you tried to back out, things had turned violent. You had tried to flee, but then fought back when no other option was available to you. But even you couldn’t hold your own against a dozen experienced armed fighters. What happened after you passed out, you couldn’t say.

In hindsight, it had probably been a trap of some sort. Set up by who and for what, you couldn’t say. Your list of enemies was a mile long, though there was also the chance you had simply gotten caught up in something by accident. 

Sure, you rubbed people the wrong way because you fell on the other side of the law, and you dug into secrets and invaded privacies most loved to keep under wraps. But you were harmless! Except to the people whose information you sold for a premium, but other than that!

You tell Alhaitham as much, and he drinks in the information slowly.  

“It’s not like you to fall into such an obvious trap. Should I make an appointment with a neurologist for you?” he says. 

“Only if you sign up for one with me,” you say. “Hey, I bet you wouldn’t have been able to resist the deal yourself. Some of those books were priceless antiques.”

“I can think of better things to risk my life for,” he says.

“So, how did I end up here, Scribe? Did you save me?” That part of the story had been bothering you like a loose rock in your shoe: the gap between you fainting in a warehouse and you ending up on Alhaitham’s lap.

“Hardly. The Matra were the ones to crash that little party of yours. They arrested most of the perpetrators, though some escaped.” 

“Ah, how classically incompetent! But wait. They didn’t arrest me on the spot?” you say in disbelief. 

“One of them— one of your contacts, I suppose— recognized you as my acquaintance and fetched me before anyone could ask too many questions. I was able to smooth things over, and arranged for you to recover in my home instead of the general hospital.”

“Damn. How much do I owe you for that?” 

“Hard to say. What sort of price would you put on your life?” Alhaitham asks. 

“I’m priceless. I’m basically one of the treasures of Sumeru.” 

“I doubt it, considering you actively meddle in affairs that aren’t yours and cause endless grief to everyone involved.” 

“Hey, I’m just doing my job,” you protest. “But you know… it’s strange for you to offer to host me here. It makes me wonder… Do you enjoy seeing me like this?” you say coyly. It’s an errant thought, one you’re not quite sure why you voiced.  

“Not at all. In fact, I quite like how you usually are.” Simple, honest, direct. Just as Alhaitham usually is. You might have preferred it if he had lied instead. 

“What the hell,” you mumble. “That’s unfair.”

“You asked. Why did you ask if you weren’t ready for the answer?”

“You know, coming from you, what you just said could qualify as a confession,” you say. 

He flips another page. “And what if it does?”

Ah, this is dangerous territory. It’s time to back away. Your injuries must be more serious than you initially realized, if they were going to make you run your mouth like this and send you hurtling into social situations you can’t navigate with your usual finesse. “Then I’d have to turn you down. You know, the beautiful men and women of Sumeru would weep if I wasn’t available for their lovelorn gazes,” you say as lightly as possible. 

“Considering your relative unpopularity, I doubt anyone would care if we did end up together.”

“Jackass. This is why you can’t get a date other than me.”

“I will take your criticism under consideration,” he says.

You close your eyes. The more you sleep, the faster you’ll heal, and the sooner you’ll be back on your feet and out of here. Then, you’ll find some way to repay your debt to Alhaitham, if only to establish some sort of balance in your relationship for your own sake. Emotions have a habit of muddling any situation they’re tangled with, and they’re a complication you want to avoid. Yes, it’s better to keep things transactional.

A hand drifts down to your face, fingers gently stroking your cheek. It’s a touch you’re intimately familiar with. Normally, you’d bat his hand away, or kiss his palm to see how far you can get with him. But you can’t muster up the energy to do anything other than accept his touch.

You would never admit it to Alhaitham, just in case it makes him more insufferable than usual, but his presence is comforting. There’s no one else you would trust enough to fall asleep like this, without any weapons hidden on your person or backup plans in mind. He’s the only person in the world who you know would never hurt you. 

What the hell. You’re getting sentimental. Maybe it’s the unusualness of the situation. Maybe it’s the fact you’re hurt, or maybe it’s the way Alhaitham sheltered you in his home, despite his usual desire to avoid mess and fuss. 

His touch is traitorously soft. You should tell him to knock it off, just on the off chance it stirs up sentiments you’d rather lie buried. 

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to cut you off..." the General starts, his tone apologetic, "But is there any chance you'd let m-"

Similar to the way Jing Yuan's phone rudely cut off Captor #1's monologue, Captor #2, who happens to be a woman, rudely cuts the general off, approaching him and roughly snatching his phone from his pocket.

The crystal-clear sound of his ringtone can now be heard, and Jing Yuan looks at his captors, observing their next move.

"Who is it?" his first captor speaks as his second captor approaches the man, showing him the phone.

"It's his wife," Captor #2 says, before smirking. "I think we should answer."

The sound of his ringtone suddenly comes to an abrupt stop, and Jing Yuan visibly gulps, showing signs of nervousness for the first time since his capture.

"Love, are you busy?"

In a different scenario, Jing Yuan's heart would have fluttered at the sound of your voice that he loved so much, but at the moment, he can only feel his heart flutter in nervousness and he prays to the aeons that Captor #1 steals the phone from Captor #2 to speak instead.

"Indeed, the General is."

However, it seems that all the aeons are too busy to look after Jing Yuan at the moment as his female captor speaks into the receiver of his phone with a teasing smirk on her face.

"What? Who is this?" your voice rings, now sounding annoyed. "Why do you have my husband's phone?"

"I'm the one currently keeping him busy," his captor responds, and Jing Yuan wants nothing more than to melt into a puddle and seep into the ground at the moment.

"It's not what she's making it out to be-"

"Shush, General~"

He doesn't know if she's doing this on purpose—the suggestive tone of her voice makes it seem like she is.

"What is that supposed to mean?!" you speak, now with anger. "Where's my husband?"

"We're currently holdi-"

"JING YUAAAANNN!!!!"

And that was his cue.

The tables were suddenly turned, and in the blink of an eye, only Jing Yuan remains standing. Every captor of his, including Captors 1 and 2, now lay on the cold, hard ground, either unconscious or groaning in pain.

The General jogs over to get his phone, seeing that you were still on the line. Captor #2, at least, had the decency to—or maybe just accidentally—put the phone on mute throughout the whole fight.

"My little sparrow!" Jing Yuan calls out to the phone, and he can almost imagine your arms crossed on your chest and the pout you wear. "It wasn't what she made it out to be, I swear!"

"Hmm, really now?" you respond, obviously not amused. Jing Yuan had half a mind to tease you for being jealous, but he thought against it.

"I'm on my way home. I'll explain everything."

"You better."

"I love-"

Jing Yuan's words were cut off as his wife hangs up the phone, and he can only let out a helpless sigh. A small smile adorns his face as he shakes his head helplessly, fingers dialing Yanqing's phone to take care of the rest.