Jet

You’re sick. Terribly so. Fever, headache, everything aches and the mere thought of even trying to drink water or eat hurts.

You just want to sleep, but the ache of your stomach and the pounding behind your eyes is just so intense you’re not sure you’ll be able to. And when someone knocked on your door, you weren’t even sure someone was actually there, or if you were hearing things in your state.

A moment of silence. Then, louder, harsher.

It hurt. The noise was making your headache worse. You wanted to tell them to screw off, but the dryness of your mouth and the effort seemed too insurmountable.

They kept pounding at your door. Somehow even louder, more forceful. A short stop before a voice cut through the air, muted by the walls between.

“Open up already! You owe me that spar already!”

Oh. Lohen.

You prayed he’d leave soon. Just give up and come back later. You managed to roll over, away from the bedroom door and pull the blanket over yourself. You felt so hot, yet so cold simultaneously. Miserable.

It was silent for a bit, something you were thankful for. A break. Maybe you could sleep, the throb of your headache had eased up a tiny bit with the noise.

“You really need to change your locks. Barely took any effort to— damn you look terrible.”

Not muted by walls. Crisp. Clear. Close.

You rolled over, confusion bubbling in you. And there in your darkened room, right by your door, was the vice captain still here. He had refused to leave. He broke in.

You didn’t have the energy to yell at him, ask what he did to your door. You shut your eyes, the headache coming back. Waves.

A part of you wanted to cry, but again, you weren’t sure you had the energy or even could cry right now beyond pathetic whimpering.

The back of his hand found your forehead, not gloved but bare skin. So cold… your body leaned into the chill.

~•~

Lohen let out a hum, and if you opened your eyes, you’d catch the way his brow furrowed, no smile in sight. You were clearly sick, for how long he hadn’t really known. But you looked utterly miserable. It was one thing if you’d been hurt. He could handle hurt. Fighting whoever hurt you, watch the blood and sweat drip into the ground. Honestly, it would almost be a good thing if you were. Might prevent that duel you owe, but he’d have reason for a hunt. He could dig his blade, his spear into flesh and muscle, rip it apart with a sadistic grin. And you look good in blood. He could help change the bandages and watch you squirm, wiping away the red of that life essence on your skin and hear the little noises you’d make when he wrapped around the source of your pain.

But there wasn’t an enemy for him to go at. Just you, small and weak, not even fully here. Toeing that spot between consciousness and not.

His hand fell away from your head, and the way you chased after pulled at him, something soft and gentle. Concerned, he realized. Genuinely concerned.

He took a look around your room finally. You hadn’t even turned on a light, the curtains pulled closed. It smelled of sweat and sick. A bucket lay on the floor, your bedside table had a half filled water glass, a bottle of fever reducers and used tissues.

Soup. He’d make that for you. Something easy on the stomach. Maybe crackers as well. Carbs would help ease the stomach. Get some water into you, medicine. Change your sheets. He’d place some cool compresses to your forehead, wrists, even your neck. He wasn’t a nurse. He could dress a wound, but sickness? He’d try. Worst case, the knights in the company owe him some favors. He’d could cash them if it got you on your feet quicker. Would replacing your locks be a favor or does it end up neutral since he picked them in the first place?

Kind of OOC, but this has been floating in my drafts for a bit and honestly, I just wanted to write. Enjoy. Attempts were made.

Ever since Neferith, the Bone Krushers have gotten far too bold. They should not be nearly as active as they are. Wulfgard was not usually this busy, an it was starting to irk him more than he’d admit.

Dealing with the conflicts of the clans, acting as an intermediary between Endfield and the Pack, it took up a majority of his time these days. And that’s how he ended up here, clearing yet another camp of buggers thinking themselves stronger than the slop they were.

How many times has he cleared this road again? How many denstacks has he had to destroy in Valley IV? At this point, his patience was wearing thin. His off-days hadn’t been aligned with yours for weeks now, and taking a look at your schedule that was a trend only bound to continue much to his disappointment.

Catello would never hold it against you, the lack of time spent together. You were both busy individuals, there was little getting around it. But even he wasn’t completely immune to longing. Maybe that’s why when he came home and you weren’t there, he found himself lingering in shared spaces, just trying to soak in what left of your scent in his home and let it fill his head until nothing but a shade of you was left. Maybe that’s why his photos app was left open in the background, pulled up to an image of you, his blankets piled on top of your peacefully sleeping form.

He wasn’t immune to longing.

Beating up a handful of LBs wasn’t hard. He was always fast, dealt with them before they really knew what was happening. Only one had caused any issues, a hulking mass of dumb muscle that took a couple of more frags than he’d thought. Thankfully, it hadn’t managed too many hits on him back. The cut on his cheek and bruising along his shoulder was manageable.

Most everything he’d already gotten a good look at before he took out the trash, but it was always best to check again. Too many times they’d thought they were safe, only to end up with permanent scars as a harsh reminder. His own back ached in remembrance.

You’d always trace the lines carved into his skin, bored fingers making new patterns that took all his attention. He wanted to feel them again, the way you’d knead at tightened muscles that left him sore but relaxed. A routine you’d made that had been so long unrepeated. Could he even truly rest if you weren’t there, a warm presence right next to him?

A scan of reported stillness, the only movement from a flickering fire barely still alive. A shovelful of dirt was all it took to smother the remaining cinders.

He stepped over the bodies, quickly finding the denstack they’d been trying to build up. They hadn’t yet managed to fully get it constructed, making it fairly easy to break down with a single explosive. And the scrap metal and tarps they’d been dragging around to try and make some quick shelters were just as easy to get through. They never had the foresight to gather much in the way of materials, and even less in actual plans for design, making everything a fragile tangle of materials at best. Made his job easier, but it was something the other clans took clear note of.

Just what exactly did Neferith plan for them? The most they offered was blind devotion and drugged delusions. Catello sighed. He could figure out more later. As it stood, his limbs felt heavy with exhaustion, and his mind wasn’t far behind. He couldn’t wait until this mission was over just to collapse in your shared space. Just a fragment of you would ease him.

He heard a rattling sound that shouldn’t be there, his weapon drawing from his holster on instinct. The building, the one that scanner and his initial search had deemed not too big a concern. He cursed himself, he shouldn’t have gotten so sloppy. That’s how you die.

He approached the building with soft steps, the sound of dirt shifting under his feet almost imperceptible. Catello kicked the door open, launching it from its hinges and slamming it into the wall with an echoing thud.

A bat launched at his head, and if he had been any slower he’d have ended up on the floor with a concussion. He jumped back, aiming at center mass but not yet firing. There was still a chance it was a civilian, one who gotten trapped inside with the LBs.

“Holy shit you scared the snot out of me.”

His arm dropped, switching the safety of his hand cannon on. There you were, bat in hand and clearly frazzled at seeing him and by Talos it had him equally overwhelmed by emotions. Fear, relief, anger, pride. His ears might have gotten a little warm, but it could just as easily be from the stuffy air of the cabin.

“What are you doing here?” He spat out, harsher than he intended but damn it, he nearly shot you. He wasn’t sure if he could live with himself if he had been just a little too quick to fire.

“Well I was working when this happened. They better pay me hazard for this…”

He couldn’t help the laugh that left him. Here he was, missing you so much it hurt, and you were a stone throw’s away. Armed with a bat and ready to fight tooth and nail, your guard steady and if he hadn’t been expecting a fight right on entry, he’d have likely ended up in a med tent. As if he needed another reason to fall for you.

“Wait, Catello you’re bleeding again! Ugh, sit down, let me treat it,” you scolded, shoving him into an office chair that despite everything, was still upright. Your hands were quick to find a cut on his chin he hadn’t even noticed, adrenaline still running in his veins. His jaw tightened slightly at the contact, but you were already rummaging for bandages and wound wash.