Saddummy

It was a dark and stormy night when Hilde lingered outside the office door for a moment, letting her hand hover over the door knob. A soft golden glow spilled from the small window, painting the room in gentle warmth. She could hear the faint scratching of a pen, the quiet hum of focus. Illuga. Of course he was here, tucked into his work like always.

She hesitated, a little smile tugging at her lips. Part of her wanted to knock and call out cheerfully, but another part of her, the part that had learned to read him after all these years since they were kids, knew better. He liked to lose himself in his tasks, to vanish into his own thoughts.

Still…she couldn’t help herself. A tiny tug of worry pulled at her chest, and she quietly pushed the door open, stepping inside.

He didn’t notice her at first, too distracted as his head bent low over the ledger in front of him. Papers were scattered across the desk, some marked with ink, some folded in careful corners, but all of them cluttered in a way that made Hilde’s heart ache.

His shoulders were tense, rigid, and she could see the way he rubbed the bridge of his nose, a small gesture she had come to recognize as fatigue disguised as composure.

“Illuga?” she said softly, her voice carrying just enough to reach him without startling him.

His head shot up, blinking eyes flicking to hers. Surprise shown on his face for a brief second before he straightened and offered her his usual polite smile. “Hilde,” he said. “I didn't hear you come in. I apologize...”

She stepped closer, smiling faintly. “It looks like you’ve been here for hours,” she said softly, letting her eyes skim over the messy desk. “And judging by the way you’re sitting…you haven’t moved much either.”

He shifted in his chair, trying to sit a little straighter as if that alone could hide the tired slump of his frame. “I’m… just sorting things out,” he said, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Nothing you need to worry about.”

Hilde tilted her head, soft concern flickering in her eyes. “Nothing I need to worry about?” she repeated, voice gentle. “You sound tired.”

“I’m fine,” he said quickly, almost too quickly. She caught the tiny quiver in his voice and the slight tremor in his hand as he reached for another paper.

Her chest tightened. Of course he was fine…that’s what he always said. But she knew him too well to be fooled. She stepped closer, now standing beside him as she places her hand lightly on his shoulder. The touch was casual, tender, but she could feel the tension in his muscles beneath his thick layers of outfit.

“You’ve been pushing yourself too hard,” she murmured softly.

He flinched slightly but didn’t pull away from her touch. “I said I’m fine,” he replied, firmer this time, though the shadow of exhaustion behind his eyes betrayed him.

Hilde didn’t need him to say more. She could see it. The slump of his shoulders and the faint paleness of his skin (even though he's already pale).

Her heart ached quietly, knowing how much he carried on his own.

“You don’t have to hide it from me,” she said softly, her thumb brushing gently over his shoulder. “I can see when you’re pretending.”

He paused, pen hovering above the paper. She held his gaze, steady and patient, letting him know she wasn’t going to let him push it away.

Finally, he exhaled, a soft, reluctant sigh that said more than words ever could.

“Work…it never ends,” he admitted quietly. His shoulders relaxed just a fraction, the rigid tension easing. “I keep thinking that if I just… if I just sort everything out, maybe things would be easier. But they never are.”

Hilde’s chest squeezed. She wanted to tell him it was okay, to take a break, to let someone else help. She wanted to shake him gently and whisper, You’re human, Illuga. You don’t have to carry this alone. Instead, she kept her hand resting on him, letting him feel the warmth she offered.

“You think you have to carry everything on your own,” she said softly, almost to herself, though he heard her. “But you don’t. You don’t have to prove anything.”

He fiddled with a sheet of paper, jaw tight, and she watched him fight against showing any vulnerability. But slowly, he exhaled, letting his shoulders sag just a little. The weight in the room seemed to shift with him, and her heart eased a little, too.

“I just… I want to make sure nothing goes wrong,” he murmured.

Her hand didn’t leave his shoulder. “I understand,” she said gently. “But trying to do it all alone… it doesn’t make it easier. You’re allowed to rest, you know?”

He let out a quiet breath, leaning back slightly. She finally saw the cracks in his composed exterior—the exhaustion, the strain, the silent burden he carried—and her heart ached. She wished she could lift it all for him.

“I don’t want you to worry,” he said softly. “It’s nothing that a little rest can’t fix.”

“You’re not fooling me of all people,” she whispered, letting a small, playful smile tug at her lips. “You look like you’re about to collapse right here.”

He let out a quiet laugh, soft and tired, and she felt a little flutter of relief. “I suppose that might be true,” he admitted. “But there’s still so much to do.”

“Then let me help,” she said, gentle but firm. “We can do this together. You don’t have to carry it alone.”

He looked at her for a long moment, weighing her words against his pride, before finally giving the tiniest nod.

“Maybe… maybe just a short break,” he said quietly.

Hilde’s smile brightened. “That’s all I ask.” She released his shoulder, but stayed close, moving to the small kettle in the corner to make tea. The soft swish of water and warmth of the steam seemed to settle the room.

When she handed him the cup, he wrapped his hands around it, and she could see a faint, tired smile touch his lips. It was small, but it was enough. She leaned against the desk lightly, just to be near him, and let the gentle quiet fill the space.

“You always know when to check up on me,” he murmured softly, and she felt her heart flutter at the soft vulnerability in his tone.

Hilde glanced at him over the rim of her cup, eyes warm. “Someone has to,” she said teasingly, though her voice was full of truth. “Besides… I can’t stand seeing you like this. You’re not supposed to be drowning in papers all the time.”

He laughed again, this time easier, lighter. She watched as he relaxed just a little more, letting the warmth of her presence seep in.

“You’re… too kind,” he said, and she felt a small smile tug at her own lips.

“I’m just concerned,” she said softly, her tone almost a whisper, “and stubborn enough to check on you anyway.”

Hilde rested her hand lightly on his shoulder once more, not to scold, just to remind him that he wasn’t alone.

Illuga subconsciously leaned back to her touch, closing his eyes for a brief moment, letting himself feel it.

For the first time that night, perhaps for the first time in days, the weight in his chest eased.

And Hilde, watching him with quiet relief, felt lighter too.

The storm outside could rage, the work could pile up. But here, in this warm little corner, they were together.

“You… cook?” I asked, raising a brow.

Albedo glanced over, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “I am capable of sustenance beyond field rations. Besides,” he added, voice calm and even, “considering your usual preference for warm beverages, I assumed this might be of some use.”

I couldn’t help the small blush creeping onto my cheeks. “So… it’s for me?”

He gave a subtle nod. “You may interpret it as such.”

I moved closer, curious, and watched him ladle the stew into two bowls with precise, careful movements. It was as meticulous as any of his experiments, yet somehow warmer.

We sat across from each other at the small table. I took the first sip, letting the heat fill me, while Albedo quietly ate, eyes half-lidded in thought.

After a moment, I asked softly, “Have you… heard from Alice? Or Klee?”

Albedo’s expression softened slightly. “Yes. Klee has… in her own way, asked after you. She wishes to meet you. She seems convinced you are… fascinating.”

I snorted, a small smile tugging at my lips. “Fascinating? That’s one way to put it. She hasn’t exploded anything lately, has she?”

“Not yet,” Albedo said dryly, though a tiny spark of amusement lit his eyes. “She claims she wants to see the ‘sparkly time magic lady’ in action. It seems you left quite the impression.”

I felt a flutter in my chest. “Klee… always so enthusiastic.”

“And Alice,” he continued, voice softer now, deliberate, “she misses you. She is curious how your glyphs and summoning techniques have changed. Her words were: ‘I cannot wait to poke at Ria’s time magic like a curious fox.’”

I let out a quiet laugh, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. “She would say that, wouldn’t she?”

Albedo leaned slightly forward, resting his chin lightly on his knuckles, gaze intent yet teasing. “It appears I am not the only one fascinated by your… abilities and presence.”

My spoon wavered mid-air, caught by the intensity in his eyes. “I—I suppose that’s… flattering,” I murmured.

He gave a small, playful smirk. “Though, I admit… I appreciate having the privilege of witnessing them firsthand before anyone else.”

The warmth from the stew, the soft hum of the machinery, the quiet light of Nod Krai filtering through the windows—it all felt… safe. Cozy.

And perhaps, just a little… more than comfortable.