Nai's Nook

Your fingers were numb, and yet you still felt the burn in your wrist and the thousands upon thousands of pin pricks running up and down your arms. The strained muscles in your back and legs let you know you had been in this position for longer than anyone should, and despite your body begging for release, the restraints that held you wouldn’t budge. You couldn’t see anything, not with the damp strip of whatever it was wrapped tightly around your eyes. 

In the darkness you could make out vague whispers - one distinctly nasally, alongside a much gruffer and scratchier voice. Whether the stale stench of cigarettes and alcohol was coming from them or not, you didn’t know. There was a scuff of boots. What you could only assume was broken glass was scraped aside along the floor, then the scrap of material was ripped off your face.

You winced, eyes watering as they adjusted to the harsh light spilling in from the ajar door. Your years of training did not help as bile began to rise in your throat, burning and bitter. The beat of your heart grew so intense it was all you could do to not focus on it.

The man crouching in front of you was tan, with greying hair and wrinkles to match.

“Where’s the white-haired Japanese prick?” 

You were taken aback, expecting him to be the one that sounded like he smoked a pack a day. He was the nasally sounding one, speaking as if he had a stuffy nose.

“I - what?”

He moved in extremely close. You tried not to gag. “What, you don’t speak English, sweetheart?”

Sawyer. They were definitely talking about Sawyer. Why were you being asked about Sawyer?

“I- I’m sorry, I-”

Before you could utter another word, something metal was pressed against your temple. You were suddenly very conscious of every slight movement you made, of the air being sucked out of the room. Cold dread ran rampant in your veins.

Calm, calm, panicking won’t help you.

It was much easier thought than done.

“Where. Is. The tattooed dude. With the piercings. You know who we’re talking about.”

“Sawyer.” The lanky one standing in the doorway spoke. “Cauley.”

“Who’s that?”

Lies, lies, all lies. The smell of the room suffocated you. Rust and damp and foul. Your legs trembled, against your will.

“Listen girly,” the thing at your temple pressed harder, “don’t act stupid. We know you patched him up after he had a scrap in that alleyway.”

The man at the door sighed, picking at the glass of its shattered window. “We just need to know where he is. We’ll leave you alone after that, alright?”

Even if they were telling the truth, and they would let you go after you told them, you had nothing to tell them. Sawyer had made good on his promise to never see you again, so the fact that these people even knew you were barely associated would have been baffling. If you weren't so terrified, that was.

“I don’t know,” you answered, voice shaking despite your honesty.

“Try again.” 

It was a blade pressed against you, and the bastard holding it had drawn blood. Searing pain ripped across your skin. You almost retched. You hoped and prayed at the very least the blade was clean.

Your words tumbled out, each one more frantic than the last. “I swear, I don’t. I patched him up and he left. He could be halfway across the world by now for all I know.”

“See the thing is, we have a score to settle.”

“I don’t know. I don’t understand.”

The blade travelled from your temple to your neck, its tip dragging along your skin. You leaned back as far as you could. From the glimpse you caught, the blade wasn’t rusted, but you knew that meant jack shit on whether it was actually clean.

“Someone very important died because of Sawyer.” The older man mumbled.

“W-what? Who?”

He pressed the knife right up against your carotid artery. Tears blurred your vision. “Ah, see, you’re not privy to that information.” 

“I’m telling you I have no idea where he is.”

 The one fiddling with the broken glass looked straight at you. “He didn’t say anything, hm? Didn’t send anything?”

He had sent you something. Flowers. But the address on that was probably fake, assuming Sawyer had some working brain cells left in that head of his. 

A hand wrapped around your throat and you flew into a blind panic.

“Flowers. He sent me flowers, but I threw away the card, I don’t know where it is.”

The gangly man nodded; eyes fixed on a point you couldn’t discern. “So, he did survive after you were done with him. Interesting.”

They… thought he had died? They thought he had died. You just told them he was alive and well.

Shit, shit, shit -

“So -”

A loud thump echoed throughout the room, its source right outside the door. You didn’t want another stranger walking into the room, not when you were so close to passing out. The room tilted.

The gangly one at the door slipped what looked to be a gun from his belt (a terrible place to keep a gun, really). It did nothing to stop the person outside from barrelling in and completely knocking him out in a matter of seconds. The man who was previously holding a knife to your neck seemingly manifested a gun out of nowhere and pointed it at… Thomas?

It was Thomas. 

You flinched, expecting a gunshot to tear right through Thomas’ chest. Instead the bullet that pierced the air came from the hallway and landed squarely in your captive’s shoulder. His cry was shrill in your ears, but even that couldn’t distract you from the sight that was Ambrose, her hair tied back and face ghastly as she stalked in. She landed a stomp on the man's head. He fell silent.

“Hey.” It was Thomas, fiddling with the restraints around your wrists. “You okay?”

“No,” you choked. From the corner of your eye you witnessed Ambrose drag the taller of the two unconscious men through the door and shattered glass. You could have broken down into tears right then and there. From fear and relief.

Thomas stopped for a moment, and he pressed his forehead against yours. You felt a little more at ease when he whispered, “You don’t have to be.”

Your wrists were rubbed raw and your joints cracked when you were helped up. You nearly toppled over at the sudden chorus of gunfire and yelling from below.

“Sorry about your ankles hun, but you’re going to have to run.” Ambrose frowned, head tilting towards the direction of the hallway.

“Run?” 

Thomas stroked your hair back, face shrouded with sympathy. “I’d carry you, but that would just make both of us a bigger target.”

“Don’t fret, Tommy and I’ll be right next to you.” 

Ambrose swivelled her foot right as someone tried to barge through the door, flipping them effortlessly into a pile of crumpled beer cans. With a swift kick of her steel toed boots the man went still. Immediately she reached for you, fingers wrapping around your upper arm and steered you down the hall. You didn’t miss how she completely avoided your damaged wrists.

It was darker. Much darker than the room you were tied in moments ago, and you had to hold onto Ambrose with your aching fingers to steady yourself. Ambrose approached the end of the hallway, the dim glow revealing a set of stairs. The fighting was deafening here. Gunshots and shouts reverberated through the narrow passage as you struggled to keep your breathing steady. Thomas, who had been padding behind, silently advanced in front of you, giving a hand signal you didn’t understand before creeping down the stairs.

“I know.” Ambrose gave your arm a little squeeze. “Just pretend you’re at some sort of intensive surgery. Nothing will happen if you do what we say, okay?”

“Okay…”

The faint light from the stairwell made Ambrose’s face look younger, softer. And then you remembered she wasn’t that much older than you to begin with. What caused her to fall into such a violent line of work, you didn’t know. Maybe if you both got out of this alive you would ask her.

Tentatively, you stepped down the stairs, wincing at the spike of pain that shot up your leg as you placed weight on your ankles. Ambrose’s arm was immediately at your waist, and she supported you as best she could down the uneven steps. As you got closer you could pick out the thump of things being thrown amongst the yelling. Thomas was crouching on the bottom step, face serious.

Ambrose drew you closer still, her voice hushed as she said, “Listen, we’re gonna have to do some running and ducking, okay? Just don’t let go of me.” Thomas threw up another hand sign before disappearing into the fray. “We just gotta wait for a little while.”

A little while is probably what it was, but it felt like the moment stretched on for an eternity. Then, out of nowhere, three shots rang out in the mess, clear as day. Ambrose didn’t say a word, jerking you forward so roughly you nearly tripped over yourself. 

A warehouse - you were in a warehouse, dodging and weaving through gargantuan shipment crates as Ambrose pushed and pulled you through bits of debris and rubbish. You couldn’t take it all in even if you tried. You caught a glimpse of Thomas in the corner, wrestling someone carrying switchblades. Gasps of moon rays filtered through the broken beams in the ceiling.

“Eyes forward (Y/n), you’re going to fall,” Ambrose hissed, pressing you flush against a metal container as someone was thrown right past you both. Whether they were friend or foe you were unsure.

The noise was giving you a headache amongst other things, and if it weren’t for the adrenaline and Amrbose’s insistent tugging you could have fallen asleep right there. Exhausting was seeping into your veins like you were on a drip. It felt like a miracle when Ambrose was able to steer you to a door, before shoving you through it.

“Get into a car, any of the grey ones, hurry.”

The door was flung shut.

Why, why, why - 

Why were they risking everything to come and get you? You did nothing for them. You had nothing to give them. 

Something heavy slammed against the other side of the door. You could barely hear the sound of your soles hitting the pavement over the noise as you scrambled to the cars, climbing into the nearest one. 

“... Riley?”

The door wasn’t even shut properly before the tyres squealed and the car jerked forwards. You clung to everything and anything. Every turn of the car caused you to lurch against the seats and doors.

“Get your belt on!” He veered right. Hard. “Did you not hear me?!”

“I’m trying!”

You finally managed to clip the buckle in just as he swerved right again.

“Riley you’re going to kill me!”

“Shut the fuck up, or I will kill you on purpose!”

A digital ringing resounded in the car. Riley’s hand shot out, grabbing one of the many mobiles strapped to the dashboard. You saw his mouth move in the rear-view mirror but could barely hear the words spoken over the roar of the engine and tyres.

“Oi, (Y/n),” he yelled, giving you a passing glance in the mirror, “hold on to something.”

What?

If you were finding it difficult to keep your insides where they belonged before, you were definitely struggling now. Riley paid no mind to the speed bumps dotted along the road, skidded around corners at a speed you knew was illegal, and even forced the car down narrow alleyways.

“Riley! Why are you driving like a maniac?!”

“I’m trying to get you to the drop off point!”

“Drop off point?!”

You barely managed to process what he said as you were flung right against the window. You caught a flash of the menacing smile plastered onto Riley’s face as he gripped the wheel and gear stick in terrifying confidence.

He yelled over the engine, “Listen, we’re hitting a tunnel soon, and you’re gonna have to jump!”

“What?!”

Your head was spinning.

“As soon as I tell you to go, you fling that door open as far as it goes, and you fucking jump!”

“I’ve never done anything like that before! I’m going to die!”

“Well, if we get caught, we’re both fucking dead!”

This is it, you thought, mind a flurry of too many things with too little time to sort them out. I’m going to actually die, and my family will have no idea where I went or who took me or -

Cars identical to the one you were strapped in tailing behind Riley’s erratic driving. Your car slowed down slightly as it entered a tunnel, plunging you into darkness. Your heart lurched in your throat. 

A hand on your leg pulled you out of your panicked stupor. Riley’s green eyes were lit up by the lights on the dashboard. He stared at you in the mirror, his face deathly calm. The world quietened down immediately.

“You open the door as far as it goes, you jump at an angle away from the car - there’ll be a grassy patch so the landing won’t be as rough - and then you pull all your limbs in and roll. Land on your shoulder if you can. You’ll be fine.”

And then all the sounds came crashing back.

“Someone will pick you up, just hide near the entrance of the tunnel until they arrive! Ready?!”

“No, I’m not,” you whispered, hands shaking like mad as you unbuckle your seatbelt.

“Wait for it.”

Your knuckles blanched as you gripped the handle.

“Now!”

You flung yourself out of the car.

You could have sworn you heard something crack as you landed on your shoulder. Your skin was on fire as you skidded across the grass. You pulled back just as the grey cars sped by, one after another.

And despite being exhausted to the brink of collapsing, you still managed to drag yourself to hide in the shadows on the tunnel.

It happened so suddenly.

One moment there was pleasant chatter floating over the dinner table, and the next the Crown Prince was slumped over his meal. For a moment the dinner hall was quiet, the only sound being the skittering of his silverware across the stone floor.

Then there was pandemonium.

The Queen was the first to move. She gripped the wrist of her other child, who was fixated on the sight of his older brother's dark curls soaking in the broth of his plate. The King was next. He barked orders to anyone who would listen, demanding the presence of a doctor, a healer, anything. 

Dishes were swept off the table, plates and cups clattering as they were frantically cleared away. Wooden chairs scraped against the floor as they lay down the unconscious boy. He was breathing. Broken, shuddering breaths, but breathing, nonetheless. 

Servants crowded around the family. Even the stubborn cook had rushed from the kitchens to see the commotion.

The younger prince reached out with trembling fingers, only to have them snatched back by his mother. “No, Colm, stay back.”

“Why?”

“We do not understand the situation just yet, touching him now may make it worse.”

“... Will Kieran be alright?”

Her face became grim as one of the older healers burst through the door. “I dearly hope so.”

***

He smiled as the whispers grew louder. 

‘Did you hear? Prince Kieran collapsed!’

‘I heard it was food poisoning.’

‘I doubt it.’

The heels of his fine leather boots clicked against the stone floor, adding to the buzz of conversations between the maids and butlers. 

‘I was there, he took a few bites and then he toppled over.’

‘Poor thing, he is only fifteen, isn’t he? Barely grown into his face.’

‘Imagine how his younger brother must feel, Colm, the sweet child.’

He stopped by the large window overlooking the gardens. Each fruit and flower were bathed in moonlight, their silver petals and leaves stretching towards the sky.

It hadn’t taken much to make Prince Kieran collapse. Just a few select ingredients from that very same garden which triggered the ever-building disease within Kieran. It was a blessing in disguise, really. Sooner or later the boy would have succumbed to his illness. All he did was speed up the process for the Prince.

Elisabetta’s fur lined gloves and coat didn’t offer much warmth against the bite of the air, yet she trudged forward through the slush that covered the ground anyway. She always found her responsibilities harder during the winter. 

Hard, yet dignifying. 

While others were working in the warmth, the herb collectors that practically ran the towns were out in the cold, doing their jobs. Regardless of the exhaustion that only ever hit her during the short winter days, she took pride in the fact that she was keeping people safe and healthy with her work. She tucked her scarf into her coat, pulling the red wool up and over her mouth and nose as she walked. The trees were barren, their branches bearing snow instead of colourful leaves and flowers. Elisabetta set her basket down gently, making sure it was a relatively dry patch of ground, and swapped her winter gloves for her gardening ones.

“It's been colder than this,” she mumbled, stretching and curling her fingers, “and I’ll be back home after I’m done.”

Elisabetta’s scissors found their way into her gloved hand. She got to work. Her mind wandered, marking off items from the list and handling the bundles she wrapped up with her somewhat numb fingers. She wrapped the last twine tied bundle and tucked it right beside her leather notebook. Elisabetta inhaled sharply, the air stinging her lungs. Picking up the book, she thumbed through its pages. Her fingers skimmed over her new notes, the messy handwriting and little doodles filling her with a newfound vigour. She swung the basket onto her shoulders, letting the well-worn pages guide her steps. The half-frozen river sloshed lazily as she left crunchy footsteps in the snow, making sure to walk a safe distance from the brittle banks. Snowflakes began to fall, disappearing as their delicate patterns hit her skin. Each step took her closer to the route Aryan had shown her earlier.

“It should be here…”

She thanked the sturdiness of her gloves as she pulled and tugged at brambles. Finally, the path to the picking grounds was revealed. The fallen snow could not hide the shine of colourful stones Aryan had placed along its start. Elisabetta smiled fondly, sweeping snow off the pretty markers before continuing her way. She knew they would be covered again soon, but for now she’d let their glory be revealed to the white, white world.

Speaking of which, the winter had quashed the foliage in the land. Flowers or species of trees were a lot harder to identify as landmarks anymore. Good thing she also thought to jot down landmarks that didn’t change much with the seasons, such as the clusters of jagged rocks, or the large felled trees. Minutes later and she was standing in the sprawling fields next to the looping stream. Immediately she began to dig around the bases of the tree trunks. She didn’t get very far before she felt it.

A shiver down her spine which was most certainly not due to the cold.

Her hand slid into her basket, gripping her scissors as she took in her surroundings as casually as she could. The stillness was undisturbed. No other feet in the snow, no rustling in the bare undergrowth or chirping birds. And yet…

There.

Faint. Almost completely drowned out by the stream was shuffling.

She steeled her nerves, gliding her weapon from her basket, and moved towards the noise. The sound of struggle grew louder. She walked, coming face to face with the sharp remnants of a large thicket. A branch snapped beneath her shoe. The thicket began to pop and crunch as whatever was inside tossed and turned and hissed.

Elisabetta jerked back, her pulse soaring. She was no fool, and she most certainly wasn’t going to get killed by a wild animal in a place so far from town. But before she could leave, she caught a glimpse of something. 

Green. 

Too green to be there in the blanket of snow that had stolen the colour from the forest. And as she leaned forwards, breath fogging as she listened harder, she realised there were gasps and pants far too human for comfort.

“Hello? Aryan? Is that you?”

A familiar voice choked out, “E-Elisabetta?”

That was all she needed to hear.

She frantically grabbed and tugged and twisted. One branch after another, she prised them away with burning lungs and aching arms until she could fit. The branches tore at her dress, wrenched off her hat as she pushed through. Sweat trickled down her neck as she tumbled into the centre of the thicket.

Aryan was laying in the snow.

 He tossed up snow and ice as he writhed. His skin and scales were dull, breath coming in short gasps, and despite the shivering, his eyes were perfectly still, focused on Elisabetta.

“Lisa, y-you -” Coughs wracked his body, tail thrashing against the ground.

“Help,” she whispered, “I’m going to get help.”

She threw her coat atop his body, praying that the warmth soothed him.

And she ran.

***

The glow of the oil lamp cast glassy colours across your work surface, their shapes creeping slowly as the mobile of vibrant stones swayed.

“Here?” Oliver asked, arms outstretched as he positioned the nail.

“A little closer to the lamp.”

“I’ll get burned!”

“So? A little to the left.”

“What, are you going to kiss it better?”

“Kiss it better yourself, also higher - wait, stop! There! Perfect.”

He puffed a pale curl out of his face. “Okay, can you hand me the - Oh, yes, thank you.”

You traded the small hammer for the metal and stone mobile, waiting until Oliver had secured the nail into the beam before handing the mobile back.

“It looks really good! Thank you for putting it up. And helping me make it.” You sighed as he clambered down. The mobile spun in slow circles. 

Oliver bumped his hip into yours, his grin contagious.

“No problem. The stones were really nice. Not brittle enough to break but soft enough to drill holes into. Besides, it was your idea, not mine.”

He discarded his leather gloves on your workbench as he admired it with you. It had taken a good few days, and a few friendly quarrels with your fellow brown eyed co-worker, to get it all balanced the way you wanted it, but it did wonders livening up the place. The splotches of colour it trailed around the room was lovely.

“It’s a good thing griffin allowed us to put it up.”

You shrugged. “I mean if it didn’t go up here, I would have taken it home, but yes, I -”

You flinched at the slam of the apothecary front doors.

“Someone is overzealous,” Oliver frowned, weaving through the table packed with other staff knocked from their concentration. “Excuse me! Would you kindly - Elisabetta? What in the world are you doing slamming doors?!”

You held back a shiver at the sharp wind whipping through the shop. The wind had picked up immensely compared to ten minutes ago. You were about to move to close the doors until you saw Elisabetta standing in its frame. Her nose was running, her cheeks bright red. Her scarf, hat, even her coat was nowhere to be seen, much to your dismay.

“Lisa, what are you -”

“(Y/n), we have to go, now,” she huffed. Did she run all the way here?

“What are you doing walking around in this weather dressed like that? Where is your coat?”

She stormed up to you. Her fingers dug into your arm, their chill sinking deep into your skin. “Now.”

Oliver interrupted, “Wait, Lisa, are you okay? What has gotten into you?”

“Not now, Oliver!” She pulled you towards the door. A crowd was beginning to gather. Their murmuring got stronger each step you took, every word more concerned than the last.

“Elisabetta, what is going on?!” You hissed; words full of warning as you struggled free from her grasp. She spun to face you, and you finally noticed the scratches and torn clothes. Your stomach dropped as you assumed the worst. Your voice melted from harsh to gentle. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine but we have to go!” She swiped at her face, dragging you once again to the door. Her voice was harsh and low as she said, “It's Aryan.”

A hand clamped down on your shoulder. It was Oliver.

“Where do you think you’re going in weather like this? The storm is picking up again. Both of you inside.”

The crowd got louder. Griffin shouted for an explanation from the back room.

“Oliver, let go,” Elisabetta threatened, eyes flashing, yanking you further back.

“Oliver, let go,” you repeated.

“Why?”

You forced his grip off you, knocked down the coat rack as you tore your coat and scarf from its hook. Lisa shoved through the crowd; her hand clasped around your wrist. Oliver shouted something from the doorway of the apothecary, but Elisabetta and yourself were already too far down the street, too engulfed in the howling wind to hear it.

It didn’t take long for you to realise where Lisa was taking you, and when you had, even you began to pick up the pace despite the weather forcing you back. Your throat was burning when Lisa brought you to a thicket, the branches bent and snapped at odd angles. Without hesitation she pulled you through, and you suddenly understood exactly where she had gotten those scratch marks from. Warmth dripped down your cheek as a branch drew blood, but aside from giving the crimson drops in the snow a quick glance you didn’t stop. Elisabetta pulled you all the way through.

The first thing you noticed was Lisa’s dark coat flung onto the ground. Only when she moved it did everything click into place. Half buried in the snow was Aryan, eyes barely open, lashes frosted. What possessed him into thinking it was alright leaving his cave in weather like this was beyond you.

“I don’t know if we can get him out on our own,” Lisa said, eyes shining with fiery determination.

“We can try.”

Aryan mumbled something under his breath. Your hands were already pulling on his arm, his skin stone cold as you hoisted him up. Lisa hurried, pulling his other arm over her shoulder. Dragging a man being the size you two were was no easy task, but dragging someone with a massive, muscular tail was even worse.

“What the hell…” You almost dropped Aryan in horror. Blocking the misshapen exit was Oliver, eyes wide. In his hand was Elisabetta’s hat and scarf. “What are you doing?”

You grit your teeth, steading the Naga as much as possible. “Oliver, it’s not what you think. We -”

“That’s not human!” He above the wind.

“Oliver,” Lisa snapped, red hair whipping wildly, “help or move.”

Another wave of shivers wracked Aryan’s barely conscious body. You had to lock your knees to stop yourself from tumbling. “We will explain later, I promise, but please, move.”

Oliver flinched as you moved forward. With a silent grim look, he began snapping branches and tossing them aside, widening the hole out of the thicket.

The rest of the journey was a blur, by some miracle you knew you had managed to drag Aryan back to his cave. You remembered the flickering of a small fire, and the ache of your body. You remembered Lisa collapsing in exhaustion.

And you remember following suit.

***

It was warm.

Well, that wasn’t the right word for it. It wasn't as cold.

Your head was spinning, and you hadn’t even opened your eyes yet. Groaning you rolled over, pulling whatever was draped over your body with you.

“You’re awake I see.”

Oliver. That was his voice.

The effort of pulling yourself upright with your tender muscles forced you to take deep and slow breaths through your nose. You flinched at the light that spilled into the cave when you finally peeled your eyes open. Oliver was sitting near the mouth of the cave, as if he was going to dash at a moment's notice. Rogue snowflakes drifted in, but the harsh wind from before seemed to have faded. The fire you vaguely recall being stoked was looking a lot more impressive than it had last night too.

“You kept the fire going?”

“I didn’t want to freeze to death,” he responded rather curtly. He didn’t even turn to look you in the eye as he said it.

“Thank you?”

The soft bounce of his curls was the only indication that he even reacted to your thanks at all. You sighed, stretching your arms. Dull pain shot straight through your skull, the memory of what happened before your uncomfortable sleep came along with it.

And goodness, it was a mess.

Lisa panicking, drawing the attention of the entire shop. Running in the blizzard. Oliver tracking you without your knowledge. Aryan half frozen to death. You scanned the cave, finding said Naga curled up near the fire, fabric thrown atop him like he was a table. In his arms, all bundled up, was Lisa, who looked to be getting some much needed rest.

“You’re both unbelievably reckless. You could have gotten yourself killed. And now,” Oliver turned to glare at you, causing you to draw back in surprise. Never had you been subjected to the heat of Oliver’s stare, “We are in a cave, a way away from town, in the cold, with a- a-”

“Naga.”

“I know what it is.”

“He,” you corrected, “Aryan is a Naga.”

Oliver took a deep breath, scrunching his scarf between his fingers. “So, he’s the mystery man you’ve been receiving gifts from. Can’t say I expected you to associate with something so dangerous.”

Anger bubbled deep within your chest. You gestured at Elisabetta, her hair stuck to her face as she snuggled deeper into the fur. “He isn’t dangerous. Look at him. Look at Lisa. Does she look like she’s in any sort of danger?”

“Not yet.”

“Do you really think Lisa is stupid enough to help something that would hurt her?”

“I’m not an idiot, (Y/n).

“Then what's wrong?”

“(Y/n), if the town folk find him, he will be slaughtered.”

“That’s a big ‘if’.”

“No, it isn’t. They’ve probably rounded up a search party to look for us. A good enough chunk of people know who we are, and they all saw us three run blindly into the storm for no apparent reason.”

You stripped away the yellow scrap of fabric weighing down on your shoulders like bricks. “What do you mean ‘search party’. Why would someone send out a search party?”

“It’s tomorrow. We’ve been gone so long that it’s the next damn day.”

“... What?”

“Exactly. I’m sure as hell our family have realised we’ve gone missing. We’re just lucky the storm only just died down, so they’ve probably just gathered themselves enough to start looking.” He groaned. You pulled along your makeshift blanket as you joined him at the mouth of the cave. “I’m just worried, alright? Lisa came tunnelling in like a mad woman and then you both just go and disappear into the snow. Do you not understand how concerning that is? I almost passed out when I saw the reason you left was to help a Naga. I thought they were extinct, aren’t they supposed to be dangerous?”

“I get it. Trust me I do.”

Oliver sighed, “Listen, if you think Aryan is good enough to be trusted, I’ll keep him a secret.”

“Oh, uh, thank -”

“Make no mistake, that’s not me saying I trust him.” For the first time since you awoke, he looked at you with something other than anger. There were dark circles under his eyes.

“That’s fine. You don’t have to trust him.”

“We should probably wake up Lisa and leave,” he pulled up his knees to his chin. You followed his eyes, all the way to the stream where the light was bouncing off the water and snow. “I don’t know how far they’ve gotten, if they’ve even sent a search party out at all, but if they have it would be better to get closer to town, so they don’t find him.”

You spared a glance at Aryan and Lisa. “Let her rest for a little.”

“How long is a little?”

“Ten, maybe fifteen minutes.”

“Fine.” You heard a stomach grumble. It wasn’t yours. You struggled to stifle your laugh as Oliver went bright red, and before you knew it your laughter was bouncing off the walls. He smacked your arm, voice raised, clearly embarrassed, “Don’t laugh, I’ve been awake for longer than any of you have, I’m hungry.”

“Quiet!”

“You quiet!”

“Apologies.” Your head whipped around to see Aryan rousing; head dipped as he readjusted the fur around Lisa. His voice was hoarse, but his skin and scales seemed to have regained some colour. “I don’t have much to eat on hand.”

From the corner of your eyes you saw Oliver frown, brows furrowed, and mouth screwed to the side. Whatever he was thinking, it was probably unpleasant.

“That’s okay,” you cooed, turning to face him while remaining at the mouth of the cave. “How are you feeling?”

“Thank you,” he croaked.

“Aryan? That didn’t answer my question.”

“I’m so sorry. I- I shouldn’t have gone out, not while the weather is so temperamental.” His breaths quickly became erratic, and you could see even from where you were sitting that his lovely green eyes were glassy with tears. “If it weren’t for Elisabetta I would have died. She could have died trying to help me. Y-you and your friend -”

Words tumbled from Aryans lips, each one faster than the last as tears slid down his face in large globs. You were at his side in an instant, cradling his face while he hiccupped and squeezed his eyes shut.

“Hey, hey.” You swiped the tears away. So warm for someone with such cool skin. “Don’t cry. You’re right, something could have happened, but it didn’t and that’s what matters, okay?”

“It doesn’t matter, I still put you all in danger because of my misjudgement, and -”

“Ugh, what is on my face?” you looked down to find Lisa climbing from her colourful cocoon, the tears you had failed to catch coating her cheeks. “You’re crying.”

Aryan bit his lip, avoiding Lisa’s stare. “That I am.”

“You okay?” Lisa asked, wiping her face with a ragged sleeve. “You know you don’t need to feel bad about what happened, right? We came because we wanted to help. No one forced us.”

“He should feel bad,” Oliver called from the entrance.

Lisa locked eyes with Oliver with the menace of a trained soldier. “No one asked you to follow us, Oliver.”

“I was worried! How many times do I have to say it?”

“He’s right to be worried,” sighed Aryan. He was leaning into your touch ever so slightly, hands hovering like he wanted to place his over yours. Admittedly, it felt nice watching him melt a little under your fingertips.

“Thank you!” Oliver exclaimed.

“I apologise for getting you tangled up in all this, Oliver.”

Oliver gave Aryan a strange look, but other than the purse of his lips, he didn’t respond maliciously. ”Just… don’t do that again. You got lucky this time. Come, (Y/n), Lisa, we’re leaving.”

Who did he think he was, your parent?

“You don't get to make that decision.” You looked back at Aryan, whose eyes were now closed. His brow twitched as you stroked his freckled cheek. “Do you want us to leave now?”

“You can go whenever you wish, but please, don’t come back until winter is over.”

“Only if you promise to not do something as silly as going out until winter passes. You should understand the weather better than any of us!” Elisabetta interjected, wrapping herself up in her coat and scarf.

That made Aryan smile. “I will, thank you, Lisa.”

“Let’s go,” Oliver repeated, tapping his foot against the rock floor. Your patience was beginning to wear thin at how very little your friend had. You huffed, moving your hands away from Aryan. “Listen, this is all in Aryan’s benefit too. The sooner we get back, the less likely people will be crawling all over this place. Tell me, do you have a plan if they find him? Hmmm, (Y/n)? What about you, Lisa?”

“We get it, you don’t need to spell it out for us,” you muttered. Aryan was staring at his hands now that you’d removed yours.

There was a rapid patter of footsteps, then Lisa flung herself onto Aryan. She hugged him, tightly at that, and you did the same. You gave him the most comforting squeeze you could manage.

“Stay safe,” Aryan sighed, then directed his attention to Oliver, “you too.”

Oliver looked over at Lisa and yourself, fussing over Aryan one last time, and he crumbled just a tad. “Don’t die. Don’t drag other people into your messes either, okay? I won’t hear the end of it if you do.” 

And with that he strode out, vanishing into the light.

Elisabetta elbowed you, then promptly grabbed your hand. It seemed Lisa was taking the lead in a lot of things recently. You smiled fondly. It dropped just as quickly as you made sure Oliver was out of ear shot. “Lisa, do you think I should stay?”

“You what now? Why didn’t you say so earlier? When Oliver was here?”

“You and I both know he would protest, that’s why.”

“(Y/n), please, you don't need to stay here with me,” Aryan smiled. It was as plastic as they came. You didn’t want to see him smile like that ever again.

“I’m staying more for me than you. And I’ll only stay until you’re better. That’s only a few days.”

Lisa shrugged. “If you wanna stay for a few days, and I mean a few days, then go for it. I’ll bring you some food in a few hours. You know, we’re probably going to have to think up a story as to why you went missing longer than Oliver or I did.”

“Oh no, what about Oliver? He isn’t leaving without me, is he?”

“I’ll fight him.”

Aryan giggled at that.

“You sure?” You asked, glad Aryan was feeling better, even if it was just a little. “Oliver is, like, three heads taller than you.”

You couldn't turn the key fast enough, giving the lock a well needed jiggle before the door swung open, only to be slammed behind you. The hinges screeched, but you paid no mind to their protests as you slumped against the door. The embarrassment you were drowning in moments ago dissipated, leaving exhaustion in its wake. 

Your husband's sonorous voice piped up from the kitchen. “(Y/n)? That you?” 

“Eli, who else has the key to our house?”

“... Doesn't your sister have a spare?”

“Right. Forgot about that.” A hollow thud echoed in the narrow hall as your head hit the solid wood. You slid down its surface rather gracelessly, settling as a pile on the floor. 

“Sweetheart, are you okay? You sound kind of -” Elijah rounded the corner, letting loose a gasp when he saw you huddled up against the door. “Oh, honey, what's wrong?”

“I’m just tired.” He tilted his head, eyes focused on you. All six of his hands were fidgeting, his brows knitted together as he looked at you with tentative concern. Yet he did not say anything. “Eli, you gonna tell me what you're thinking or what?”

“Dinners ready. Come on, let's get some good food into your tummy.”

You shrugged off your coat and kicked off your shoes. “My legs kinda hurt.”

“Well it’s a good thing I’m a strong boy then, isn’t it?”

The faint smell of his earthy cologne clinging to his shirt enveloped you as Elijah gathered you into his arms. You heard the crinkle of your jacket as it was hung, accompanied by the thump of your boots being dropped back onto the shoe rack. You thanked him quietly, splaying your fingers over his neck, his steady pulse and warmth relaxing you. Your eyes fluttered shut, and you snuggled closer.

“It’s not a problem, love. However, you being sad and tired is.”

“I never said I was sad.”

“Maybe not sad, but definitely frustrated.”

“I never said I was frustrated.”

“When you get frustrated you do this thing where you kinda flare your nostrils and squish your mouth into a squiggly line and try to avoid looking at me like you’re doing now and -”

“Okay I get it, I’m very bad at hiding my emotions, you don’t need to tell me, jeez!”

“But that’s the thing, I don’t want you to hide your emotions.” A mattress creaked below you, and immediately you knew you were in your bedroom. “Are you going to tell me what the problem is? I know it’s got something to do with the driving lesson you just had. You were really chipper before you left the house for it.”

His fingers found their way into your hair, gently brushing through the stands, occasionally scratching your scalp tenderly. “It was just… bad.”

“How bad is ‘bad’?”

“Like I stalled multiple times.”

He laughed, the rise and fall of his chest making your head bob. “Oh, sweetheart, I thought something actually bad had happened. That’s normal! You think I managed to pull off without stalling in the beginning? It took me ages before the whole biting point thing clicked, and then I had to get used to it in different cars.”

“I know, I know I won’t get it straight away, but my inferiority complex won’t let me live it down.”

“I understand honey, really, I do,” Elijah cooed, placing a kiss on your forehead, the curve of his smile soft against your skin.

“I also slammed the breaks. And I’m pretty sure I’m damaging the driving instructor's clutch, but I don’t know.”

“Is that so?” He stroked your face, coaxing your eyes open.

“Hi.”

“Hello sweetie. Care to explain why your legs hurt?”

“I was, uh - I was clenching my leg muscles. Like real bad.”

“Aw, my poor baby.”

“Oh, hush,” you groaned, rolling over and smothering your face into a pillow, the mortification of reliving the moment more than you could handle. His fingers ghosted along your legs, and you rolled over into his lap.

“Want me to rub your legs for you?”

“No, I think I’ll be fine, I’m being kinda dramatic honestly.”

“You, dramatic?” He raised a brow. “Never.”

“Right answer.”

Elijah hummed, twirling your hair around his deft fingers. “I know it’s a part of your process to have a breakdown before you’re fine, but can you skip the falling apart bit and just get to the part where you get super confident and happy and all?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Come here sweetheart.” Elijah effortlessly lifted you into his arms yet again, and just as easily strode he to the far wall, flicking on the bright white fairy lights as he pulled you further into his chest. “Tell me what these are.”

“A bunch of picture pegs and fairy lights?” You ran your fingers over a glossy picture of Elijah standing awkwardly with your family and smiled fondly. The picture was taken soon after your first date, and you knew from the way he tried so hard to garner the approval of your family that he was the one you wanted to spend the rest of your life with.

“Well, yes, but do you remember when you refused to hang these? I remember it clearly.” His hand ran up and down your spine soothingly. “You had taken a whole bunch of photos using that lovely polaroid camera of yours, and then you were in a slump for days after I suggested you hung them up. And why was that?”

“... Because they weren’t good enough to hang.”

“No, because you thought they weren’t good enough to hang, there’s a difference. But look at them now.”

“What about them?”

“They’re all hanging, pretty and proud. Kinda like you.”

“Very funny.” You shoved a hand into his chest, little force behind it.

“How about this,” he delicately pulls a photo from the string of lights and lay it on your face. After a giggle you took a peek. On its glossy surface you were splayed out on a floor. You recognised it as your old dorm room when you were at university. Papers were scattered everywhere, like a wind had whipped through the room and you were bundled up in your favourite blanket. Scoffing, you reached over and pinned it back up. 

“The last day of final year exams.”

“Precisely, and how many times did you try to give up, only to get off your butt and try again?”

“I can’t remember.”

“Exactly. Look at this one - house hunting. We had finally signed all the paperwork. Again, you thought you’d never make it through, and again you did. And you’re always stronger when you pull through on the other side. You’ll get through this, no problem. And even if you don’t -”

“W-woah -”

You were expertly flipped, your legs tucked around his slender waist and your arms guided around his neck. Elijah leaned in, nose touching yours for a moment before he placed a quick peck on your lips. “I’m here. And I’ll try my damndest to help you through this, just like you do with me and all my troubles. Yeah?”

“... Yeah.”

“That’s my baby. Now, it’s probably a stellar idea to go down and eat the lasagne I made before it goes stone cold.”

You nuzzled into the spot just below his ear and mumbled, “Can you carry me?”

“What’s the magic word?” he asked, his tone more than a little teasing. Despite his question he began to take leisurely strides towards the kitchen.

“Please?”

“Actually, it was Kakyoin, but please works too.”

“How in the world -”

“Don’t you mean ‘za warudo’ -”

“- was I supposed to guess that?”

Elijah shrugged with a broad grin, your whole body moving with him. “Luck I guess.”

“... Hey Elijah, how many more lessons do you think it’ll take before I get the hang of driving?”

“Oh, god, um, like twenty?”