Number 81 with Lunardyn , please. Thank you~ ❤❤❤
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You’re a shiny star, Lem. Shiniest of stars. Modern au...flangst, as requested. Maybe. I dunno. I tried for flangst. Hope you enjoy.
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81. “It’s cold, you should take my jacket.” Lunardyn
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It is not surprising to find the Lady nox Fleuret wandering the empty corridors of the Insomnian Museum of Natural History. While her secular pursuits have led her into a more clinical setting, the museum and, by extension, their history, relaxes her. These late night jaunts are half the reason their paths had intersected to start.
Still, it is...unusual to find her in such a state. Doctor Izunia, now curator of this fine establishment, lingers in the entrance to the Solheim exhibit. The room, the museum, everything is deathly silent. Only a few stray hollers from the entrance manage to drift back to them. It’s closing time. Lunafreya seems unaware.
She is, by her very nature, a delicate creature. They have been intimate with one another for more than a year and he still worries she will shatter in his hold. Her hospital scrubs swallow up her willowy frame, only serving to exacerbate the issue. The rain has soaked her completely through. Lunafreya stares resolutely forward, seemingly unaware of the cold or the fact that she’s shivering.
She’s liable to catch her death if he does not intercede. Ardyn pushes off from his perch, links his hands at the small of his back. “My, my, aren’t I blessed? A sylvan maid has dragged herself all the way from her beloved seas. All to share my company.” He stops before her, noting the gentle quirk in her lips. A good sign. If his antics still leave her smiling the situation is not so dire as he feared. “Are you quite well, dearest?”
Her eyes are far away and glassy. It is a far cry from her typical strength. Her determination is still there but it is flagging. The young woman is clearly exhausted. “I could not say.” Lunafreya sits up taller. She looks around and, for the first time, seems to realize precisely where they are. She drags a hand through her hair. It leaves the drenched strands standing up at gravity defying angles. “My apologies, doctor. I’m sure you were closing.”
“Your company is hardly an inconvenience, pet. Though, I fear I must ask, did you walk here?”
The hospital is five miles away, at the very least. “Yes.”
Ardyn clucks his tongue. The museum is drafty on the very best of days. Half drowned, one would feel liable to freeze. The curator sheds his coat in one smooth movement, pressing it into Lunafreya’s limp hand. “Humor an old man, won’t you? It’s cold; you should take my jacket.”
He drapes the material over her shoulders before she can argue one way or another. Despite being artfully well tailored on Izunia himself, she is left swimming in material. Ardyn kneels before her, scrubbing his hands over her shoulders. Cold seeps through the fabric from her skin. Lunafreya offers him a wan smile when he cups her cheek, smoothing the errant fringe of her bangs away from her face.
“I wanted to see you,” she says by way of explanation. Lunafreya reaches out. She presses her hands against his chest, fingers curling in the front of his shirt. The scrape of blunt nails over his skin is a testament to the strength of her grip.
“How lucky, dearest. I quite like being seen.” She chuckles, just barely able to conceal the way she rolls her eyes. Lunafreya is strength incarnate. Whatever weight she carries, whatever hurts she has suffered throughout the day...she is already in the process of rallying. He makes a show of struggling back to his feet before collapsing down beside her. “Charmed as I am that you would wade halfway across the city to share my company...I am sure there is a pragmatic explanation for…” he makes a vague gesture to her disheveled appearance. Lunafreya hugs his jacket around her.
“A patient reacted poorly to treatment. To...every treatment.” She offers him a tired smile. “I suppose it’s still...sobering. All the good intentions and training in the world...and all I could do is sit by her bedside and watch her die.”
There is nothing to say. Lunafreya’s relationship with death is...complicated at its very best. She still wears the scars of her mother’s passing and its aftermath. Ardyn holds out his arm. If she is feeling powerless, truly powerless, he will leave the choice to her. She chooses to come to him, curling against his chest. He presses a chaste kiss to the crown of her head.
“Forgive me,” she mumbles. “It’s selfish. Langoring in my failures like this.”
“Human, Lunafreya. It is human of you to feel this.” She chuckles, curling into him more tightly. The strength in her hold, the subtle note of possession, still thrills him. “And I shall be here to distract you when the time comes. Perhaps with an evening in? An excellent bottle of wine.”
A comfortable silence settles in between them. Lunafreya sighs, resting her chin on his sternum and staring up at him. “Take me home, doctor.”
He nods. Only a nod. No teasing about the way she’s ruined his shirt and slacks with her dampness. No mention of the way she’s delayed his closing rituals. Only a nod. Lunafreya threads their fingers together and hugs his arm to her chest. She will rally. Sooner rather than later. Until then, he is more than happy to offer his support.
