#finnelariot

Sunday morning. Nine-thirty on the dot. Already, Anne’s in her ironed uniform with only her hat set on its stand, and her tea kettle is left to cool after her cup for the morning.

And yet, unsurprisingly, Chariot’s yet to rouse from her side of the bed. She’s been stirring for the better part of the past few hours—even woke up Anne before her alarm. For those first handful of minutes, Anne even thought that it was the moment of reckoning: Chariot would get around before her.

Well...

Yeah, no.

Still. A witch could dream.

Anne fixes her collar in the mirror with a hum. She should’ve expected Chariot’s lengthy stay in bed, though. Her eyes drift to the window with only a hint of the puzzlement that dawned her that morning.

Last night, there was only a drizzle of rain. This morning, a thick blanket of snow.

And speaking of the night prior, Anne can still feel the way Chariot clung onto her within their bundle of blankets, after having spent a few hours running around the campus doing the busy work no other professor wanted. Tis the young blood’s curse, Anne supposes.

With her uniform flattened to a crisp edge across her shoulders, Anne murmurs, “Chariot, you’re going to have to get out of bed sometime today. The weather’s even going to believe the ground swallowed you out of existence.”

The only response is a light groan.

Anne pauses with a slight frown. That wasn’t a noise anybody wants to hear from a toad, never mind a woman. Or maybe Anne is blowing it out of proportion—which, as Chariot notes from time to time, Anne tends to do. And, well, if she is being honest with herself, Chariot has sounded worse when she woke up disgruntled.

However, Anne tilts her head and looks over her shoulder. “Chariot...?” she asks softly, answering the quiet nudge of her intuition.

Again, a groan. This time with a rustle of sheets.

Anne thins her lips. No, she isn’t blowing anything out of proportion. Chariot sounds feeble.

Her heels click softly across her quaint room, and her voice softens: “Chérie...? Are you alright?”

Just above the line of blankets, Anne catches her ruby eyes. And oh, are they dreary. As the witch steps closer, Chariot nestles further into the pillows with a weak sniff. Anne chuckles her hum and sits at the side of the bed, her gentle hand on Chariot’s shoulder.

”Oh, I see... You poor thing.” In that moment, as Chariot captures her hand and holds it delicately, Anne’s features soften. All of the stress lines of her face, the bridge of her hooked nose, the teal of her eyes that knows how to slice and dice—all of it simmers into a tender and fond expression. “All of us old bats left you out in the rain for too long...”

”It’s...fine...” Chariot manages through a croak. “Better me sick than any of you.”

Anne hums as she rests her hand on Chariot’s forehead. “I suppose... But you’re burning a cauldron.”

”I feel like a cauldron...” Chariot grumbles.

”Well then, I think that’s an issue.” Anne folds her hands together and sets them across her lap. “How about I take care of you for the day, then? Since you hardly kept yourself well the last time.”

Chariot thins her lips and frowns with a mumble. “Well the last time I was only trying to keep up with the workload you put me under...”

”...yes, and I believe the week after was quite the revelation because of that,” Anne murmurs. Chariot’s feverish blush deepens spectacularly, and she sinks further into the pillow as Anne smugly grins.

”Now,” Anne purrs with a quick peck to Chariot’s temple, “I’ll go into the town then and get your favorite foods.”

Chariot’s light smile is another thing Anne cherishes about her. However, the young witch frowns and says, “I thought you were going to grade those exams and then organize those study groups?”

Anne gets to her feet, then replies, “Well, I think those can wait. And...it’s Sunday, anyway, so I don’t think those girls will mind...”

”And they did mind last Sunday?”

Anne eyes her with a half-hearted scowl and an arched brow. “That was the first time either of us left this room since the Friday night, Chariot!”

”...I did say I wanted to see if we could last all weekend.”

”For the love of—! Chariot that is abominable! I’m not going to have it be so obvious that you manage to sneak me away every so often as it is!” As Chariot smiles from under the blankets—and then the impressive duvet she pulls from the end of the bed—, Anne rolls her eyes with an exhale. “Honestly, even with a cold, you manage to get under my skin.”

To which Chariot giggles.

Then hacks and coughs.

Horribly. The poor thing.

Anne slips on her witch’s hat and grabs her satchel from a hook off the wall. “I’ll go get that medicine then...”

”Thank...you...” Chariot nearly strangles out.

At the door, Anne pauses. With her teal eyes over her shoulder, she says, “And don’t do anything while I’m gone.”

”...wouldn’t dream of it.” Anne shakes her head and opens the door. “...love you...!”

With a soft grin, Anne says, “Love you too, chérie... Now sleep well.”

You will not take Finnelariot from me. You won't. Not even from my cold, dead hands. Cuz rigor mortis.

Anyway, hope you enjoyed!

:D