#alas she had not slept for a week and was (as stated) trying to recover from her own death | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

rosethornewrites · 4 years

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Fic: this body yet survives, ch. 1

Relationship: Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī/Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn

Characters: Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī, Lán Huàn | Lán Xīchén, Lán Qǐrén, Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn, Jiāng Chéng | Jiāng Wǎnyín, Jiāng Yànlí

Additional Tags: No War AU, Recovery, Trauma, Dissociation

Summary: Wei WuXian continues to recover from his traumatic near-death experience, and the cultivation world slowly reacts to the event as well.

Notes: I hesitated to write this because I’m already writing two multichapter fics. But I already started this and I have Plans, so it’s too late. So here we go. Please note that in the coming weeks the new semester will start and so my writing time will be much curtailed. The title of this is taken from another Mei Yaochen poem. His poems are really lovely. My favorites deal with grief and longing. I really need to look into finding translations—a translation I found of 不知夢 was haunting. Alas, this pandemic doesn’t make getting books easy.

Parts 1 & 2

AO3 Link

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“Xiongzhang, shufu, I wish to court Wei Ying.”

WangJi had decided to be forward about his desire. Most would approach such a conversation in a roundabout way, starting with idle conversation, but WangJi preferred to be direct, especially in this.

Truthfully, he would have sought permission before now, but Wei Ying was fragile, even after he had finally broken through to him.

When he had brought him to his siblings after his admission of hunger, Jiang YanLi had cried when he actually ate, kept filling his bowl, and had since made it her personal mission to get him back to a healthy weight. Jiang Cheng’s reaction had been stronger; he had given Wei Ying an almost violent hug and demanded he never worry them like that again.

“I’ll try not to,” Wei Ying had said.

“If you… I was going to kill a-niang if you didn’t get better. She’d deserve it. She does deserve it.”

Jiang Cheng’s voice had been filled with vitriol.

Neither sibling had wanted to part from him, particularly after he admitted to having nightmares, and the four of them had stayed in the jingshi that night, with XiChen as an amused chaperone due to Jiang YanLi’s status as a young maiden. WangJi had not expected to be included in the sleepover, but he had been pleased by it nonetheless.

“I was there, but I wasn’t,” Wei Ying tried to explain, struggling both to find the words and stay awake. “I knew what was going on around me, but I didn’t really feel anything. Interacting was hard, like trying to run underwater.”

He had fallen asleep long before hai shi, after Jiang YanLi had stuffed him full of lotus and pork rib soup, spicy baozi, and osmanthus cakes she had personally prepared in the kitchen. He had sprawled on a blanket in what was normally an anteroom of sorts in the jingshi. Jiang Cheng had covered him with a second blanket with a surprising amount of tenderness.

“How did you get through to him, second master Lan?” Jiang YanLi had asked in the quiet that followed. “We were so worried.”

Answering that question was not easy; he had not then been ready to admit his feelings to anyone but Wei Ying.

“I composed a guqin piece for him,” he finally said.

The smile Jiang YanLi had given him was knowing, and made it clear she was pleased and accepting of his intentions toward Wei Ying, though he knew he would still need to formally request permission of her and Jiang Cheng in the future if he wished to court him.

Jiang Cheng, thankfully, had not seemed to get the implication and just shook his head.

“He always was more musical than anyone else in the family. A-Niang hated that, wouldn’t let him play the dizi. Just another thing she decided to be awful about,” he had muttered angrily.

“‘An angry man is full of poison,’” XiChen had advised softly, quoting Confucius. “Your anger will not change her, only yourself.”

Jiang Cheng nodded, but his lips twisted.

“She wanted me to hate him. Kept pitting us against each other, comparing us. Still, I never thought she would…”

He shook his head, and Jiang YanLi squeezed his shoulder gently.

“Blood or not, a-Xian is our beloved brother,” she had said. “And she hates that. It may be unfilial, but we choose him.”

WangJi had insisted Jiang YanLi take the bed, as was appropriate. He settled in for the night beside Wei Ying, xiongzhang on his other side. Jiang Cheng slept on the other side of Wei Ying, sandwiching him between friendly bodies; if he woke from nightmares, he would not be alone.

But it had been WangJi who woke to hear Wei Ying’s soft whimpers and panting in his sleep, to see his furrowed brow and the fear and pain in his features, even asleep.

“Wei Ying,” he had whispered. “You’re safe.”

Wei Ying hadn’t stirred, but had curled toward his voice, wound up burrowed against his side, and let out a soft sigh, his brow relaxing as he fell deeper into sleep, away from the nightmare that had been plaguing him.

WangJi’s last thought before falling back to sleep had been that Wei Ying fit against his body like it was meant to be.

Shufu’s cup froze halfway to his mouth, but his expression was one of resignation. Xiongzhang simply looked pleased.

“He has been doing better these past weeks,” XiChen commented.

WangJi only nodded.

‘Better’ was the best descriptor. At times Wei Ying still seemed more absent than present, but the mind healers were able to speak with him more than they had before and seemed optimistic. He ate more, though he sometimes needed prompting or reminders of the food if he seemed to fade from reality. He was starting to look healthier.

“Sometimes,” Wei Ying had confessed after one of his fading episodes, “it’s like the world is too bright and loud.”

Even in the serenity of Cloud Recesses. The mind healers, he had said, told him his mind was protecting him when the world was too much for him, as it apparently had been for a full year after his near-death.

Wei Ying had, haltingly, started to play the dizi WangJi had bought him, sometimes losing himself in the music entirely. The battered dizi among his possessions, he explained, had belonged to his father, something he had left behind at Lotus Pier after eloping with his mother. Jiang FengMian had stored it away for his return, but instead Wei ChangZe and CangSe SanRen had died on a night hunt.

The dizi had been given to Wei Ying when he was found and brought to Lotus Pier, the only item he had of his parents’, but he had been banned from playing it by Yu ZiYuan. Instead he had hidden it away in his room.

Playing the dizi also often overwhelmed Wei Ying, leaving him beyond exhausted, the memories associated so fraught. WangJi had seen tears spill down his cheeks as he played more than once. But when WangJi mentioned the idea of attending music classes to learn GusuLan cultivation songs, he had smiled.

WangJi had set up a meeting with the instructor, Lan MingKai. Despite the rule against gossip, all of GusuLan knew what had happened at the Lotus Pier discussion conference. Normally this would be displeasing, but the result was not: Wei Ying was treated with kindness. Not only had the instructor been welcoming, he had even offered individual morning music lessons. Wei Ying was, in fact, attending a lesson while WangJi had tea with his brother and uncle.

Overall, Wei Ying was more present, more expressive—nothing like he had been before, but after so long without seeing him smile at all even the small ones were precious.

“Yes,” WangJi said. “It is gratifying.”

Shufu cleared his throat and took a sip of tea, setting down the cup before speaking.

“Why seek our approval, WangJi? Why not his siblings’?”

“Wei Ying is of GusuLan now,” he reminded softly; it was polite to seek sect approval. “I will seek their approval following yours.”

This explanation seemed to please shufu, who nodded, stroking his beard thoughtfully.

“It has been troubling to see Wei WuXian so… quiet,” he finally said. “I never thought I would say I prefer him more lively, but…”

In conversations over the last year, shufu had expressed concerns. He had seen people severely traumatized in the past, their personalities changed by pain. He had kept up with the mind healers and offered suggestions on activities WangJi could use to try to engage Wei Ying.

“There have been times the mind healers have not been able to help,” he finished after a moment. “I was becoming concerned this might be one of those cases.”

WangJi set down his teacup, afraid he might break it in reaction, his entire body clenching at the idea that Wei Ying could die.

Shufu watched him, something in his face softening.

“He will still need help in his continued recovery, WangJi. And he may never recover fully.”

“I wish to be by his side regardless,” he stated, and his voice came out hoarse.

Xiongzhang placed his hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently as though to soothe.

“You have my blessing, WangJi. You always have.”

WangJi almost smiled at that, remembering how XiChen had pushed him to form a friendship with Wei Ying, how he had resisted. He hadn’t known how to handle his burgeoning emotions, had been afraid of them. Xiongzhang had known long before he himself had.

“You have mine as well,” shufu added. “A marriage would make GusuLan’s acceptance of Wei WuXian more concrete and indisputable.”

XiChen nodded, looking thoughtful.

“After what he has been through, and what I have heard of his childhood from Jiang WanYin, that stability would likely help him heal.”

WangJi resisted his immediate urge to ask after that information, but if Jiang Cheng wanted it known to him, it would be. He refused to violate Wei Ying’s privacy by asking others or even him. If Wei Ying wished him to know, he would tell him.

Shufu interrupted his thoughts.

“WangJi, you need never fear he will face ill treatment here. No physical punishment. No seclusion. He will not be turned out. He has suffered enough.”

Tension WangJi hadn’t known he’d been carrying eased all at once, the fear that Wei Ying would, once healed, face these punishments and, if they were married, be subject to the same treatment his mother had suffered... The last thing he wanted to do was add to the trauma Wei Ying had already been subjected to by making him a prisoner. He had already watched him nearly die and then wither away into almost a ghost once; he refused to do it again.

“Thank you, shufu.”

“He may have a penchant for… antics,” shufu continued. “But none of them have been harmful. They’re simple pranks, nothing worth what he has suffered.”

Silence fell between them, and WangJi did his best not to remember mud-caked pale skin and blue lips, the gurgling gasp of Wei Ying’s desperate breaths under Jiang YanLi’s screams. He feared if he closed his eyes, that would be all he would see, not the gentle whorls of the dark table, the condensation on the teapot, not the steam rising from its spout.

They had been among the first to respond to Jiang YanLi’s screams for help, having happened to be nearby at the time. Shufu, having the best knowledge among them of healing, had not hesitated to dirty his robe in the mud, passing qi to Wei Ying as he lay bleeding from his nose, eyes, ears, coughing up blood and river water, dangerously close to qi deviation after his desperate and dangerous use of his spiritual energy to free himself.

Shufu had ordered xiongzhang to get help, ordered WangJi to help him, clearly knowing WangJi would refuse to leave if asked. Wei Ying had moaned in pain when shufu turned him onto his side, and that was when they saw the tears in the back his clothing that left him almost naked, the blood seeping from lash marks, had noticed the bruising on his face and neck, the bloody fingers that curled in the mud as though seeking something to hold onto.

WangJi had removed the outermost layer of his robe to drape over him, to preserve his dignity in front of the array of faces that were coming to investigate Jiang YanLi’s screams. He had taken his hand then, had watched Wei Ying, eyes wide and terrified, try to focus on him, saw him mouth his name. All he could do was assure him he was there and keep holding his hand when Wen Qing arrived and started snapping orders to everyone.

“It probably helps that he has never gone near your beard,” xiongzhang commented, his tone almost forcibly light, an attempt to dispel the tension.

Shufu seemed to shake himself, as though dispelling the same memories haunting WangJi, or memories of his own.

“CangSe SanRen probably considered her crowning prank the time she shaved my beard while I slept,” shufu said, his voice almost fond. “I rather hope he doesn’t attempt that.”

WangJi hesitated before speaking.

“Wei Ying knows very little about his parents,” he said softly. “He would probably appreciate any stories of his mother you would tell him.”

After a moment of hesitation, shufu nodded.

“She was a very bright person,” he murmured. “Much like Wei WuXian was, before.”

His countenance had a sort of sorrow to it, and WangJi wondered if Lan QiRen, like Jiang FengMian and others of his generation, had also loved CangSe SanRen. Whether she had upended him like Wei Ying had upended WangJi. Or perhaps shufu felt the loss of Wei Ying’s light, and it reminded him of her death.

“Tell him I will speak to him, when he is ready,” shufu said.

WangJi wondered if shufu was ready, but he held his tongue. That his uncle was thinking of Wei Ying’s condition, letting Wei Ying decide if and when he was ready to learn more about his mother, was a kindness. He was still recovering from the damage his adoptive mother, however much she didn’t deserve and had refused the title, had done to him.

“I will let him know.”

They pause to sip at the cooling tea, to enjoy the breeze coming in through the window and the sound of the windchimes gently clinking beyond, the peace of a morning in Cloud Recesses.

“Please also let young master Wei know that he is not required to invent talismans so regularly,” xiongzhang said as he poured more tea. “His recovery comes first. And he need not feel he owes GusuLan for offering sanctuary.”

“Not simply sanctuary,” shufu clarified. “Wei WuXian is a GusuLan disciple, should he wish to be. He need not offer compensation for his care.”

WangJi frowned, considering all that had occurred. Certainly, shufu’s words to Madam Yu had made Wei Ying’s welcome clear, but he didn’t know that Wei Ying had been capable of listening then, so soon after his near death and in the midst of insults and verbal abuse. The announcement of such so publicly at the discussion conference meant that Wei Ying’s status as a GusuLan disciple was known to the cultivation world.

But it didn’t necessarily follow that it was known to Wei Ying.

“Has Wei Ying been informed? Formally invited?”

He watched as his uncle and brother had a silent conversation that left them both looking abashed, and knew this was something that had been lost in the chaos of what had happened, had somehow not been noticed in the last year, an oversight.

“I will speak with him,” xiongzhang insisted. “He already wears GusuLan robes, so we thought…”

“He wears them because they are white,” WangJi reminded him. “He grieves still. I gave him blue robes, and he has not worn them.”

Shufu frowned, his expression almost pinched, close to a wince. XiChen closed his eyes, as he always did when overwhelmed by emotion. WangJi felt the same guilt they did; it had been a year, and none of them had clarified his welcome, too focused on his dissociation with the world, his healing, when this information could have aided in his recovery. None of them had clarified that this was his home.

“I will have a forehead ribbon prepared as well,” shufu said. “We will present it to him, and apologize for the delay.”

“Perhaps you should also make sure his siblings are aware,” WangJi said gently.

Shufu actually winced, which told him the issue had also not been discussed with them, either. WangJi wondered if the Jiang siblings had realized Wei Ying would stay at Cloud Recesses, or if they had planned to follow Wei Ying wherever he went after Gusu.

“I would recommend speaking to them first,” WangJi advised. “Perhaps before I ask about courtship, so they do not assume the two are related.”

“Or dependent,” xiongzhang murmured, as though he had read WangJi’s mind. “We owe them a tremendous apology. After what nearly happened… they’ve feared for his future all this time. It must be one of the reasons they’ve stayed.”

They had many, WangJi knew, and he was certain both XiChen and shufu knew as well. The biggest one was the lady of Lotus Pier, who may have given birth to both of them but could clearly not be trusted.

“We will rectify this,” shufu assured him. “Wei WuXian is of GusuLan.”

“And when he is ready to stop wearing white, that can certainly be accommodated,” xiongzhang added. “He seemed rather fond of black and red, as I recall.”

Shufu twitched but did not protest.

The bell indicating si shi rang, and WangJi rose, bowing properly to his brother and uncle. It was time to collect Wei Ying from his lesson.

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alittlepieceofwarcraft · 5 years

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Prisoner of War

Year 33, spring, three months after Just After Midnight.

There was very little that could beat the first scent of fresh grass and sea breeze of Spring. The massive green dragon stretched in his cave, bones popping in response of being moved from their formerly sedentary state. He kneaded his paws against the stone, claws leaving little crevices where they dragged. Three long months had passed since he begrudgingly gave in and stopped trying to fight his need to hibernate, and in spite of the almost overwhelming hunger burning in the pit of his stomach, he had one main thing on his mind: Mywin. Stepping his way out from the cave he had found near the base of the Redridge Mountains, he gave his wings a few experimental flaps before he set off back for Stormwind. The clear skies and warm temperature was like heaven on his scales as he quickly closed the distance. He would stop some distance away in Elwynn to land and shift into his mortal form, making his way to Stormwind from there...namely, heading to Imeyah and Aleeia's home, hoping they would know where he could surprise Mywin at.

Imeyah’s heavy eyes blinked open to the sound of a light tapping at the door. She dragged herself out of bed, a thick knitted blanket wrapped around her like a cloak over her thin nightdress. She reached the door, twisted the key in the lock and nearly dropped in shock when she saw the figure on the step.

"Oh! I'm sorry, I didn't know you slept early," Verda apologized immediately. "Um...I was supposed to check in here and see where Mywin might be when I woke up." He said a bit sheepishly.

Imeyah’s expression softened to a grave sense of sympathetic sorrow as her eyes began to dart everywhere but at Verda.

“Pardon me, but... I don’t know how to tell you this, but we don’t know where Mywin is.”

Mywin had been scouting the area, crouched behind a tree and completely stealthed. Eshy’la similarly perched herself on a nearby tree branch, concealing herself within the leaves, her jade colour camouflaged in the greenery. They eyed the Horde peons with bitterness as they tugged at the shrubbery, hacked at the trees and pulled out the grass around them, creating small pockets of wasteland in the sections they worked. Savages. Mywin cocked her head at Eshy’la, signalling her to go closer and the bird inclined her head in response, carefully unfolded her wings and began hopping from the branch to branch in the treetops. Hop. Hop. Hop. Shriek. Mywin froze in horror as a net shot down from the sky and Eshy’la’s wings became sealed against her body. Unable to fly, she plummeted to the ground. A goblin gave a short cheer nearby, holstering his net-gun contraption and began to make his way towards his prize. She leapt out without thinking, overwhelmed by rage and began striking the goblin hard and fast with as many moonbeams as she could muster to force him away from her companion. He squealed in pain as he tried to dodge each attack, clumsily zig zagging in a backwards fashion from the captured Eshy’la. After several direct hits, the burning must have become far too painful and the goblin sprinted away as fast as his stubby legs could carry him. The ease Mywin felt did not last long. Her head turned only to discover a troll rogue staring smugly at her, a blade drawn to Eshy’la’s neck.

“I saw ya, wid da druid leader,” he snarled, “ya be knowin’ where da crow hides when he be away from da battle. Come wid me or I be killin’ dis bird and roasting’ it for me supper.”

Now, she lay sprawled in a corner of a dank cell, arms chained to the wall, clad in nothing but a dirtied tan tunic. They’d stripped her of her armour, confiscated her weapon and left her to starve, to thirst. They’d come in, prod and poke her, sometimes giving sharp burns, sometimes slitting her forearms or pummelling her empty stomach. Dripping blood had dried down her chin from a cracked mouth and her right ear had been partially severed from her face when they had tried to cut it off. Her jailor as she knew him was a particularly sadistic beast. An undead warlock; she wondered if he even wanted her to divulge the information he claimed to so desperately want, or if he wished to be able to control her hurt for as long as he could. His nightborne comrade said little, only sat in the corner and eyed her like lion staring at a piece of fresh meat. She’d been able to muster enough energy to heal herself for the first week or so, alas the lack of food or water had taken its toll. “Don’t try to escape,” the undead had warned, “your bird will be killed at the first sign of struggle.” Eshy’la too was crammed in her own little cage, large wings strapped to her body in a crude manner. The door swung open and stood there again was the undead warlock. His impish minion danced gleefully about his master’s feet, making the most ear-piercing cackles Mywin had ever heard. She didn’t respond. Too frail to barely move and arms too limp from being chained upright, she simply lay still. The warlock shuffled over and bent beside her, baring a water skin in one bony hand. He waved it about her face as he used the other hand to lift her head from the cold ground.

“You may drink,” he mocked, “You may drink if you tell me where Stormrage is.” Mywin’s eyes glanced at the skin in a haze. Her mouth was dry, she was indeed parched. A moment passed, the undead sensed her pause and smiled. Another went by. She steadied herself and her stare went to the undead’s own eyes.

“I... will tell you... nothing.” The smile vanished from the undead’s face, replaced by a frustrated angry frown. He dropped her head, letting it slam into the stoney cold ground. He turned extended his arm outside of the cell bars, pouring the water out of the skin before her, tiny droplets splashing nearby.

“Then remain thirsty,” he scoffed. “You will have another chance today to tell me. And another tomorrow. And the day after. I wonder how long elves can go without food.”

“My sister and I have been searching for a month, we thought we had more time until you awakened. We had hoped we’d find her by then.” It felt as if cold, unforgiving lead had settled in a lump in his stomach. His legs felt weak and heavy and for a moment he had to reach out to steady himself against the doorframe, shock rattling him.

"I told her I'd never go far." He whispered, looking at the ground. A whirlwind of emotions raged in him like a storm all of its own, and he forced a shaking breath to try to steady himself. She wasn't dead. That much he was sure of. As strange as it sounded, he just felt like he'd know if she had been killed. There was hope yet, of that he had to have faith in. "I must find her."

“Aleeia has been searching in Darkshore,” Imeyah assured, “I left her to rest up here, but she refuses to leave until Mywin is recovered. You can find her there with the Sisters of Elune. Thank the Light, they can still sense her life force, alas cannot quite pin point where she is.”

"Thank you, Imeyah. I will bring her back to us all, I swear it." He said, a fire burning in his dark eyes. "Elune watch over you."

Aleeia pulled her sword from the latest corpse of the day, muttering in Eredun as she did. Two Sisters of Elune shuffled out from the shadows.

“Did he give away anything, anything at all about where they hold prisoners?” Aleeia’s face soured even more before shaking her head, mouth twisted in a tense position as her lips pressed together.

“No,” she grunted, “can you still not find her with your spells, Hebe?” It was the priestess’ turn to shake her head.

“They have a strong, dark magic concealing the prison. Warlocks perhaps. But with so few of my sisters left, we cannot use our powers at their greatest strength.” Her head sunk in a sudden sadness from remembering the loss. “We will keep trying.” The sound of large, heavy wings beating the air could be heard overhead. Through the leaves, one might just be able to make out a green dragon flying with urgency overhead. Verda had Raineigh on his back, gripping to him for dear life. If it had been any other situation, she would never have agreed to ride on him, flight easily one of her least favorite things. But Mywin was in trouble, so she made an exception. The two of them would land at the nearest clearing they could find. Aleeia looked up to catch the dragon making a fast landing and sheathed her sword. Once shifted, he headed toward them by scent, Raineigh having to blink every now and again given her short legs couldn't keep up with his long strides.

"Motherhood has made me soft," she muttered under her breath, trying to keep up. She wore a beautiful set of robes of deep blue and gorgeous silvers. As she saw the two approach, Aleeia gave a curt nod, but said nothing. Too consumed with desperation to locate her friend, too exhausted from her efforts, she could do little more. She held out a gashed arm for the other priestess, Eir, to begin to heal.

"I'm sorry," he said softly as he caught up finally. "I had no idea."

"You had to hibernate, Verda. Horaz was asleep too." Raineigh said quietly. "Raineigh Dravenholdt," she introduced herself to those around. "Verda said you might need help finding Mywin."

“We cannot locate her using our magic,” Eir explained, “they have forces around their prison preventing us from doing so. We’ve been trying to force their grunts to give us information, but none have revealed any so far.”

"I wish Draconia were here..." Raineigh said quietly. "Alas...if someone can bring me one, I can get the information from them. It won't be moral, and it won't be kind, but I think I can get the information of where she is if they know." Verda crouched down before her.

"I didn't bring you here to get you into trouble," he said quietly.

"You have need of my...skills...and she is a friend, Verda. There is no time to waste, too much has passed already."

“Here!” A Sentinel emerged from the bushes. Long indigo hair tied back in a ponytail, the Mark of the Owl tattooed around her eyes in a deep navy ink. Her bow was still hung behind her back as she dragged along a squirming goblin in one fisted hand. The tiny green thing struggled for all his worth but gave up once she reached the gathered expedition. “He was trying to poach my saber.” She dumped him on the ground and he smacked it with a almighty thud. Hebe knelt in front of him.

“I shall give you one chance to tell me what I need to know. If you refuse, we will use force. Where do you keep your prisoners? Where is our falore?” The goblin spat at be ground before her.

“I ain’t tellin’ you nothin’! I hear you elves are some kinda pacifists anyway with yer captives, not the type to torture, you won’t lay a hand on me!” Aleeia swiftly stepped forward, instantly drawing her sword against the goblin’s throat.

“I am no elf. And I have no issue hurting you. Answer her.” The goblin croaked as the blade lightly cut into his flesh. A small flash of fear struck his eyes, yet his efforts to rebel remained intact.

“Your friend was in pretty bad shape last I looked, I wouldn’t bother lookin’ for her anyways. She won’t be kickin’ much longer.”

"You will wish you were no longer...kicking...if you don't give us the answers we seek, kim'jael." Raineigh said, coming to crouch before him. Void spread across her skin like a virus, leaving her voice dual and haunting as she stared at him with mismatched eyes. The true eye seemed to be closer to blue silver, her false eye stayed that sickeningly eerie electric fel green, and refused to be kept within the confines of her eye-socket, much in the same way that Demon Hunter eyes were. "Tell us where she is, and I promise you...we will let you die swiftly." Her voice echoed. The goblin yelped and flailed upon the ground.

“I can’t!”

"Oh...but you can..." she said quietly, reaching out to him and lightly dragging a manicured nail along his jaw but with it she drew out a portion of his life force, coaxing it out as easily as she once did mana. "...I don't think you understand the love affair I have with torture. I find a sort of courtship with it the likes that would impress even your Warchief, goblin."

“I was only followin’ that creep Verstro’s orders, I swear! He offered big bucks for anyone who could find a way to lure one of those druids in! Wants to know where the big boss is! That’s all! I barely know the guy or where he hangs out!” Raineigh showed the goblin the ethereal threads of the lifeforce that she drained of his, smirking as she just released it into the air. "If you don't know where he resides, how did you receive your orders from this Verstro?" She asked, this time placing her hand against his chest, beginning to pool his lifeforce beneath her palm, just below the surface of his skin. It brought with it an icy feeling of dread as strength and years of life were sapped from one’s life. The goblin gulped.

“That’s a great point miss, and that’s a funny story-“Aleeia edged forward again, pushing her face close against his.

“Then make us laugh and be quick about it.” He swallowed fast.

“Straight to the point, I respect ya attitude. Thing is, that guy is super shady and he has some sorta passion for inflicting pain. I gotta tell you, the chances your lady friend is alive ain’t good. Swear on my gold purse, you’re better off stayin’ away!”

The nightborne shortened the chains so her arms were forced flat against the wall. She’d lost feeling in both from the constant straining and barely noticed the change in her weakened state. He was some sort of accomplice of the undead and spent much of his time eyeing her up and down in her ragged attire, with disturbingly hungry look. Taking an opportunity, he cautiously reached his own hand out to stroke her chest, amused by her inability to fight back, expression turning from pleaded to lustful as his movements turned rougher. He lifted her head up to press his cold lips against hers and all she could do was weakly shake him off to no avail.

“Do you mind?” The undead came up behind. “If you get her scent on you and go out there those pesky druids and their irritating cats will be able to smell it.” The nightborne jumped, unaware he had been nearby, but quickly settled and frowned.

“It’s such a waste.” The undead batted a hand.

“I’m sure you can keep it in your trousers long enough for me to get what I need.” He pushed the nightborne aside to kneel before the dazed Mywin. The nightborne grunted in disappointment before exiting the room.

“Now,” he snarled, “are you ready to tell me where Malfurion is? Or where your Sentinels are stationed?” Mywin’s eyes were heavier than they’d ever been before yet she managed to half-open them to defiantly stare into his own, not speaking a word. Behind him, a dark void-like swirl suddenly appeared, green and black energy twisting with each other to form an oval shaped portal. From it stepped out a slender blood elf. Her blonde hair was twisted into a practical bun, her pretty face an unmoving expression of displeasure. She scowled at the undead, a void elemental of her own floating obediently behind her.

“The Warchief grows weary of your silence,” she bluntly stated, “report your progress.” She glanced at the night elven prisoner, clearly a drained and beaten female, and then around the musty, damp prison cell and snorted in distaste. “Must you keep her in this condition?” The undead scoffed.

“The Dark Lady gave me clear orders, Panae: find a thero’shan of the crow and uncover his location. By any means.” The blood elf remained looking down at the hunched undead, turning her nose up at him. He looked back to Mywin and prodded her sore stomach. “I asked you a question.” Mywin’s eyes had remained glaring at him, however she knowingly changed her gaze from him to the blood elf before her. She gave a chesty cough from his stabbing before directing a raspy comment to her.

“Dal tole... bantallas.” The undead raised an eyebrow and whipped his head to his comrade, who in turn was giving a smirk at Mywin’s remarkable resistance.

“What does that mean? What does the elf say?” Panae chuckled.

“You have a lot of work ahead of you if you intend to break that one.” She raised a hand, another portal materialising before her and she turned to step in.

“What does that mean?” The undead shouted after Panae as she slipped away, leaving him alone with Mywin. He pounded a fist against the wall just above her head, forcing the elf to flinch in response, before taking a finger to lift her chin and level their line of sight to match. “You will pay for your insolence.”

"I have a love affair with inflicting pain," Raineigh said, that dual voice echoing as she ripped the life force she had been pooling from his chest so hard it left a spectral scar that would glow through clothes and armor. She sneered. "If you want to live long enough to spend your gold, talk now. Lest we just killed you, and donate your gold to an orphanage in your name. Wouldn't want your peers to think you were altruistic or anything, would we?"

“You won’t get anything out of him. He loves gold more than he loves his own life and your friend bought him a lump sum.” A voice sounded from behind the group. A tall blonde blood elf stood watching the events from behind. She came out of the shadows with no fear of being overt. “It’s most fortunate for you that I value more sentimental things.” Aleeia raised her weapon in the direction of the blood elf, but it did not phase her at all. “Please. The prison is to the west. Deep at the back of a cave is a concealed turning. It will take you even deeper to it.” Raineigh looked back at the goblin and simply had no qualms about just draining enough of him to leave him weak and wishing for death, before harmlessly releasing his essence into the air. She was careful not to take it in, not wanting to trigger her addictions more than she already had been toeing the line with. Verda stepped toward the blood elf, taking in her scent with an irritated growl.

"You had better not be lying. I never forget a scent." The blood elf let out a sharp laugh.

“Just be sure to kill Verstro when you get there. He is a repulsive corpse at that and his methods are unsavoury. I’d very much like him dead.”

"That won't be an issue," Verda promised, moving away already to go shift.

"Shit, Verda, wait up. Don't leave without us." Raineigh said moving to catch up. Aleeia did not move for a moment, still fixed on the mysterious elf who very conveniently wanted to lead them right to a prisoner of war – her prisoner of war.

“Why would you tell us this? What is your plan?” The elf rolled her eyes.

“I told you: Verstro’s methods are abhorrent. Surely ridding him from this plane of existence would bring peace to both sides. Those such as him are parasites among my ranks.” Aleeia considered this: no, this wasn’t a trap, the elf seemed very intent on eliminating this comrade – but not simply because she objected to his practices. Perhaps for authority, power. Nevertheless, the others had already began their way to the prison. Aleeia gave the elf one last sceptical look before following. Panae watched them walk away, smirking to herself. One personal problem would be shortly gone. Good riddance.

The nightborne slumped over in the corner of the prison, absent-mindedly tossing a gold purse in one hand to pass the time. Verstro had taken himself further into the cave, most likely to plan more “interrogation tactics” as he called them. He didn’t even hear the echo of footsteps coming from beyond the room. By the time they found the cave, Verda shifted into a panther and stealthed, scouting ahead. He was on high alert. Aleeia followed by close, avidly protecting Hebe who had volunteered to venture into the cave with them. Verda would break into the room first, and seeing the state of Mywin, the only warning the Nightborne would have was a low echoing growl of a much, much larger animal before Verda would pounce from stealth. The nightborne leapt up from his chair in shock as the band poured in. He began to shake. Verda pounced him, teeth digging into his shoulder and shaking his head as he growled. Mywin's scent was thick on the nightborne, and he took a moment to pull back and growl threateningly at him, shifting into his elven form.

"Did you touch her?" The nightborne quivered under his weight, from pressure and fear alike.

“I... it was only a game... I didn’t... it didn’t go far.” Behind the two, the priestess ran over and dropped to Mywin. Aleeia followed suit, unchained her and allowed the exhausted druid to fall into the healer’s arms.

“She has a pulse,” Hebe called, magic starting to glow between her fingers as a warm energy wrapped itself around her patient. Mywin’s eyes flickered as she looked up at the priestess and gave a weak smile.

“Say to shan’do... I told them nothing.” She smiled.

“You will tell him yourself, my dear falore. He has awaited your return anxiously and each day told us to double our efforts. You will see him soon.” While they were getting Mywin, Raineigh dashed through further searching for further clues or if they were alone.

"My prime is not a game." He roared, claws digging into his shoulders as he let his quasi-dragon form come out. Horns, scales, tail, and wings letting the Nightfallen know exactly how much he had fucked up. "You will never touch another." He leaned down, and would sink his fangs into his jugular, ripping it out and leaving him to bleed to death. Mywin began droop in the priestess’ arms, blacking out once more.

“Will she be alright?” Aleeia asked, fret casing her words.

“She is very weak. She has many wounds.” Hebe gestured towards her ear that had a deep cut up through the lobe to the top of the tragus, the deeps scratches across her forearms. She lifted her tunic to reveal a badly bruised torso.

"I'm here," Verda said softly, hovering out of the way. He wanted to scoop her up in his arms, but he didn't want to make things worse. The priestess gently moved over and offered the sleeping Mywin to Verda.

“She’s unconscious,” she warned, “I am unsure when she will wake. I will know once we can return her to Hyjal.”

Raineigh had continued into the cave deeper.

Verda held Mywin gently, cradling her close. "You're safe." He whispered to her sleeping form. "I've got you."

The undead turned as his impish minion began to leap around at the sensation of someone approaching and he tutted.

“That randy fool couldn’t guard a rock.” Raineigh would round the corner full of fury, already channelling a bolt of frost and shadow, weaving it and letting it fly the moment she saw the duo. The imp shrieked in pain as he took the brunt of the attack, skittering around the cavern manically. Old and slow as Verstro could be, he was quick enough to step aside and dodge the attack as if it were a gust of wind. He yawned.

“I wondered who would give us away. I’d say my bets were on the sin’dorei wench and I expect I was right.” Raineigh was by no means old herself and was already launching Ice Lance after Ice Lance. "Doesn't matter. This ends here." She said. He summoned two void elementals that marched towards, making themselves take the hits, and gave a wry smile.

“I suppose you found the goblin too? She would have wanted you to. And he wouldn’t have given anything up, even throughout torture. I’d say there’s four of you up there. Which one of you did the forcing I wonder.” It took the ren'dorei nothing to summon her own elementals of water to surge at him. "What does she want?" Raineigh asked him, her voice deathly low.

“You to get rid of annoyances, I presume. Not one to do her own dirty work. She wants power I suppose. Never did like my work either, though no one does particularly appreciate the art of torture unless they practice it. I’m sure you understand.” He raised a hand to dismiss the minions before him. “The Dark Lady will raise me again. Stronger than before. Battling you would be a waste of my precious time.”

"Your Dark Lady doesn't give a fuck about you...nor anyone else but herself," Raineigh said, holding her own elementals off. "Your unlife is inconsequential to her, surely you know that. She won't waste her val'kyr on you. You'll have your true death, maybe find a little peace for the first time since you were first raised, probably be better off than the rest of us damned. But she's not going to waste resources on some two bit warlock with a hard on for torture." He cackled.

“You assume much for one so unbalanced. Before I go, you must answer this: does the void whisper to you? Do you crave it? How long until you lose yourself to it?”

"And here is where you assume much..." she smirked, her eyes glowing bright. "...the whispers are nothing compared to the addiction I put myself through." There was a slight crackle sound like ice cracking before the ice she'd been channeling above him would fall. The undead gave an unnerving grin as he fell to the ground and dropped, lying still and unmoving. She sighed, shaking her head. "If anything, my addiction has made me stronger," she said aloud to herself, rubbing her cursemark that had flared brightly from her use of magic. She would search the cave for any indication to orders, plans, and his place in the scheme of things. The cave would reveal very little unfortunately. He kept his plotting so private he rarely wrote anything down. All that could be found were an array of sharp implements and a shelf stacked with a variety of potions, all likely deadly. She certainly wasn't going to touch anything that she couldn't discern as safe or not and would return to the other room with a huff.

Aleeia unlatched the chest at the far end to gather Mywin’s armour and staff. Hebe gently freed Eshy’la from her cage and the owl gratefully flapped around, stretching her wings for the first time in weeks before swooping down and mournfully cawing at her mistress.

“I’ll bring a gryphon around,” she said. The priestess nodded gratefully.

“Send the bird ahead. My sisters will need to prepare a room.”

"If you have need of a portal," she said coming back around. "I can give one. Where ever you may need to go." "I think Hyjal?" Verda said quietly, looking between them. Hebe eyed the void elf warily before nodding.

“Nordrassil. Immediately.” Her eyes glowed as she channeled her powers, opening the portal for them.

"Will you be able to get back to Stormwind alright?" Verda asked Raineigh.

"Easily. If not, Horaz is literally a word away. He's always watching over me from the timelines." She reassured him. That, at least, convinced him enough to go on through the portal with Mywin to Nordrassil.

Once they arrived, a group of Sisters of Elune had already prepared a bed. Freshly cleaned plump pillows headed the top with a thick duvet covering the soft mattress. A basin filled with water sat on a bedside table along with bandages, needles and jars filled with healing aids. The procession of healers ceremoniously stood patiently around the sides of the room, hands clasped before them. Verda laid her down gently. "You're safe. We're on Nordrassil," he whispered softly to her unconscious form. Another priestess breezed into the room and the other parted for her like a rush of wind through a wheat field. Something about stature and the way she carried herself told the new arrivals that she had status: she was older, more powerful and extremely important.

“Winnifred,” she whispered. She turned to Hebe. “What is her status?”

“Alive, but badly wounded, Priestess Aceso. The bruising on her torso indicates she took many direct hits which may have caused internal bleeding, and one of her ears was attempted to be severed off. She is dehydrated and starving. We can bandage the injuries, but we cannot feed or give her drink unless she awakens.” Aceso bent down and studied Mywin’s body for a moment or two: using the back of her hand to feel her temperature before placing a finger on her lips.

“This is not merely a concussive state from a beating,” she frowned. “Her lips have a thin coating of poison, yet it doesn’t not appear she swallowed any. Explain.” Her student thought for a moment, perplexed by how this occurred. As the conclusion dawned on her, her elven eyes widened.

“There was another, a nightborne. He had her scent on his lips. Perhaps someone slipped him a fatal tonic before he... well he... he imposed on her, shan’do.”

The idea of the depths that the now dead nightborne may have forced himself upon Mywin had Verda furious, but he swallowed it down til he seemed simply too calm for the situation. The perpetrator was dead, he had seen too it, he had to remind himself that the fury for any further retribution was misguided. He needed to simply let things be now and be there for Mywin while she healed. Aceso’s face twisted into a look of disgust.

“Who poisoned him? Are they a threat to us?”

“I think not, shan’do. A sin’dorei female appeared keen to rid the interrogators from her ranks and showed little interest in following us.” The lead priestess nodded.

“Bring me the herbs immediately. I will not be having the daughter of Kalnor and ward of the Sisterhood of Elune die today.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She turned to Aleeia.

“You and your friends have done well. Malfurion will want to know of his thero’shan’s return. Take one of our birds to Darkshore as quickly as you can and tell him.

“Will she live?” Aleeia urged a definitive answer from the elf. The priestess looked down at Mywin with a forlorn fondness.

“95 years ago, not far from this very refuge, our people lost a powerful Sentinel and druid. Here lies their only child. Believe me, draenei, there is no power I will leave untapped in healing her.” Aleeia gave a short glance of frustration, obviously hoping to be told “yes” or “no”, nevertheless and exited the room. She turned her attention to Verda.

“And your relation?”

"She's my prime," he said quietly, trying and failing to suppress a little worried whine of a noise that left his nose. "My mate."

“You may stay.” Another priestess pulled up a chair beside the bed for him to sit.

"Thank you," he said softly, sitting there beside her. "The one who touched her is dead. I am sorry I couldn't have gotten to her sooner."

“We are glad she was found sooner than later,” Aceso assured, “Malfurion has had our scouts out for weeks to try and find the culprits to our missing druids. Five in total, and Winnifred is the only one to have resurfaced. It appears they were trapping their sentry owls and using them as bait.” Her mouth pursed to reveal the disgust she felt. Hebe and Eir emerged through the doorway, herbs in hand. “We can salvage hope that our beloved falore is alive, our Archdruid will be relieved to know his dear student is not lost. To work, my sisters. Our spells will do no good on a body this broken.”

The next few hours were filled with unspoken tension. They first tended to the open cuts as the antidote brewed: stitching her ear together with sharp needles and coarse thread.

“Savages,” Aceso had muttered, “it is a Zandalari practice to remove night elf ears as a trophy. It appears they have adapted this into their disgusting techniques.” They used finer thread to close the gashes down her mouth and forearm, wiping the blood that has trickled from them. Her torso was wrapped in soothing seaweed bindings, the cuts etched in her forearms bandaged in linen soaked in an antiseptic liquid. Once the potion had been prepared, they gently eased open her mouth to pour it down her throat, little by little. As their work finally came to a finish, Eir, Hebe and the others cast a blessing before ordered to leave the room, leaving Verda and Aceso alone. Verda had stayed out of the way and prayed the whole time, imploying Elune to save her child, begging her to not let her light be snuffed by the bloodthirsty Horde. His prayers were silent, and he merely held a beaded moon necklace, the beads and moon all made from bone and wood, as he prayed to the Mother Moon for his beloved. Aceso believed with all her heart that as she looked down at Mywin, Elune was too.

“I delivered her, not too far from this very inn, 109 years ago,” she softly said. “I know she will not die here.” Without warning, Mywin’s eyes shot open and she sputtered and coughed. Aceso knelt and clasped a flinching hand. Mywin’s gaze found her instantly.

“Shal’nar…it... hurts....” Aceso stroked her pine hair carefully.

“Sweet Winnifred, rest now. All your aunts are here, and your mate is by your side. Verda hearing her wake jumped up to timidly take a free hand.

"You're safe." He whispered gently.

“Verda...” her voice trailed off as she felt another pant of pain shoot through her body.

"Shhh, my love, don't force it. I am not going anywhere. Nothing can ever keep us apart."

Aceso squeezed her hand before patting it down. “Little kal, now you your health is assured I must attend to your sentry. Her wings have been torn and she is far too weak to fly far. I must have her ready for you when you are better. I will return soon.” She turned to Verda. “Water skins are on the side, ensure she remains lying on her back,”

"I will. Thank you." He said in his quiet way.

Many assume healing to be a straight line - they’re wrong. Mywin’s road to recovery would bumpy and became maze-like with turns. One minute the fever would be cooling, the next as if her blood had become lava. A stitch would snap every so often from her struggling in her sleep, what all who watched over her assumed to be nightmares. Days passed with her barely reaching consciousness and when she did, all she could do was whimper a few pained words. Verda didn't leave her side, just staying and praying, worried as could be. He tried to keep as faithful as he could. Mother Moon wouldn't take her from him, he was sure of it. But there was always that inkling fear that he had found her just to watch her die before him. A fortnight passed until one fateful morning, her eyes widened for the first time in days. The Sisters of Elune were able to properly spoon feed the fragile elf warm broths and she was strong enough to begin to insist she could do it herself. She was able to shuffle about her room for short periods and cast easy healing spells herself although she avoided it as she quickly exhausted herself. The priestesses had managed to remove the scars from the various cuts upon her body. One night she turned to her lover who faithfully sat beside her.

“Hold me, Verda.” She asked. Verda hadn't really slept at all, only dozing in his chair, eating whatever they brought him to eat, insisting he didn't leave her side. When she asked him to hold her, he was a bit surprised, but stood some shyly and moved to slide into the bed with her. She rested an arm over his chest and nested her face into his neck. “I am thankful to have you here.”

He let his wings come out, and gently blanketed her in them.

"I am sorry I didn't wake sooner, but I am glad that you will be alright. You are strong." She remained clung to him. A small ray of light in times so trying and full of darkness. While she would heal, it would take much more time before she was fit for the battlefield and she ached to feel more useful. For now, she was safe. Verda was safe. Her aunt-like figures in the Sisterhood of Elune - or what was left of them - were safe. Not all was peaceful outside those four walls, all was as well as could be. For now.

Darnassian

*Falore - “Sister.”

*Thero’shan – “Honoured student”, a title.

*Dal tole bantallas – “Your efforts (are) primitive”

*Shan’do – “Honoured teacher”, a title.

*Shal’nar – “Aunt”.

*Kal - “Star”.

Thalassian

*Kim'jael - “Little rat”.

*Sin’dorei – “Children of Blood”, blood elf.

*Ren’dorei – “Children of the Void”, void elf.

Other

*Prime – Mate, romantic partner.

Co-written by owner of Verda and Raineigh @fullelven.

#fanfic

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flyswhumpcenter · 5 years

Text

Spilled Coffee [Whumptober 2019 - Day 10: Unconscious]

Summary: Anzu's evening gets turned upside down when someone familiar passes out right in front of her.

Fandom: Ensemble Stars (coffeeshop/college AU) Relationships: platonic Anzu & Mao friendship, implied pre-rel Anzu/Hokuto

Wordcount: 1,374 words

Content Warnings: None.

Notes: Finally catching up on my lateness with an Enstars fic! It's a missing scene from my only other Enstars fic at the moment, Nurse Café. It's a Hokuto-centric HokuAn sickfic in case you've *somehow* not heard of it while lurking around their tag lol (and it's like 4-chapter-long, albeit said chapters are short). I'm afraid I did write this story with the idea that the reader would have read Nurse Café first, or at least its first chapter, as it provides the context and implied conversations taking place here between Anzu and Hokuto. Anyway. I'm not sure of how much I've actually filled the "Unconscious" prompt, but do I ever properly fulfill a prompt, especially for challenges like this? Technically someone's unconscious here, so that has to make up for it, right? Riiiight? Also how do you write Mao? I feel like I've gotten him very, very wrong in this story lol. It's my first time actually writing him, though, so there's that I guess. woops.

Event hosted by @whumptober2019

AO3 version available here.

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It had been a normal evening shift at the coffeeshop. The regulars had bought their usual drink, some new faces discovered the shop, some people changed from their habits, others continued discovering the other drinks they had never dipped a tongue into. Things were calm, almost soothingly so, making for a comfortable after-class shift where she had managed to squeeze in some college work too. Reading a book between clients was a way to both earn some precious money and advance in her school business.

Alas, Anzu hadn’t gotten to closing the shop yet when things drastically changed.

The atmosphere until then had been of a cosy coffeeshop right before closure. The radio played softly the latest hit songs in the background, all chairs were empty and having been cleaned, her workmate had left already because his shift was ending before hers. Anzu had always appreciated this specific mood the shop could slip into once the sun was setting down, cleaning her counter before closing for the night. She had ten minutes left before shutting the lights off, a time that seemed very short compared to the rest of the day…

…and yet that had left the time for an unusual client to come in.

The bells ringing surprised her out of her cleaning affairs, making her rise her head to the doorway, only for her to notice the client was already right in front of her face. Her eyes then directly met with a long-time friend, perhaps someone that was just a bit more than that: second-year literature major Hokuto, whom she could swear she had never seen even looking through her shop’s windows. It was odd for someone like him, who usually prided himself in his stricter living style compared to their friend group (Subaru being his favourite person to tease), taught to him by his grandmother, to step into her shop at such an hour of the night, at almost eleven o’clock.

The state his face was in didn’t ring any better bell. She had almost not been able to recognize him: a low and raspy voice, fluttering eyelids, glassy eyes with deep dark bags under them, swaying on his feet and words half-making sense. Clearly, this man needs a good night of sleep; and yet he orders an espresso of all things. If not having seem him for almost two weeks wasn’t rising enough red flags, then seeing him this obviously sleep-deprived could only have made her worry even further.

Still, here, Anzu wasn’t Hokuto’s friend: she was an employee, a seller, a barista. She served him his cup, let him sit wherever he wanted, got his money. The full price wasn’t there: in fact, there was a chunk of the cost that he’d have usually noticed was missing. Still, she decided to brush it aside: it was the end of the day and some leftover coffee, it wasn’t a big deal, she’d pay the rest herself with some tip money. She could at least do that for him.

As she finished cleaning the counter, she noticed eleven was very near. Closing hour was coming next and she absolutely had to lock the door, prompting her to walk up to and inform him of the situation. He barely lifted his head from the hand barely holding it up. Concern and curiosity mixed together and, unable to help herself, Anzu put a careful hand on his forehead. He didn’t flinch, nearly didn’t blink, almost relishing in her palm; it felt like putting her hand on a stove that hadn’t fully gone cold yet.

She didn’t like it in the slightest.

What followed was a confusing mess. As if he had regained back the energy he missed, Hokuto jerked away and gulped his cup in a couple swallows, most likely parching his throat in burning coffee, before trying to get up, giving her nonsensical mumbles. Despite the signs she had noticed that kept piling up, she got astonished to see his body pitch forward, his eyes rolling in the back of his skull, without a word more comprehensible than a grunt. Her arms almost failed catching him in his fall, nearly sending him crashing onto the floor; instead, she managed to put him softly to the ground, using her lap as a pillow for his head before she had taken off her apron to do so.

Okay, now that she had an unconscious friend and a shop to close on her hands, what was she supposed to do? She couldn’t leave either of them like that, so she ran to get her phone from her purse, until she spotted something, or rather someone, interesting in the corner of her eye through the main window: Mao, a common friend of them. Anzu immediately began waving her arms in his direction, trying to get his attention.

To her relief, her friend immediately got the signal, running to her shop with a smile until it disappeared from his face as soon as he realized what was happening.

“W-wait…” He told her, face twisting in disbelief. “Is that really…?”

“Yeah…” She quickly replied before kneeling back.

“Quick question: how did you end up with a knocked-out Hokuto in your shop?”

“I… don’t really know. He stumbled here and ordered an espresso, but when I went to tell him I needed to close the shop, he got to his feet and fainted right here and there. All I know is that he looks severely sleep-deprived and that he’s running hot.”

Mao peered from above, crouching next to her, putting his own hand to make sure.

“Ah, yeah, I confirm, he’s burning up,” he shook his hand almost as soon as he had put it on their friend’s forehead. “He’s wasted for sure. How the hell did that even happen… I wouldn’t be surprised if that was me, but Hokuto? That’s a whole other puzzle!”

Anzu didn’t take her eyes off the unconscious boy in front of her, instead mechanically brushing his bangs from his forehead. Her fingers were wet from the gesture, but her brain was blanking out from how weird the situation was and how worried she was getting.

“Should we call an ambulance?” She eventually mused out loud.

“Honestly? I’d have if it wasn’t Hokuto we’re talking about. If we do, his parents will know about it, and his grandma too, and he’ll scold us for having indirectly told his parents…” A nervous giggle. “What I’m trying to say is that, if you ask me, Hokuto is the kind of person who doesn’t like suddenly waking up in the hospital with four people looking over him.”

She hummed as a reply.

“Still, I wouldn’t let him alone in his place either. If he’s passed out right here and there, he probably can’t even stand properly, so taking care of himself is out of the question until he’s slept for something like three days. How the hell did that happen…”

“Then, let’s bring him to my place.”

Mao froze for a solid thirty seconds.

“…huh?”

“Don’t you usually bring Ritsu to your place whenever he falls asleep in public?”

“I do, but we’re childhood friends, that’s not the same thing!” His face suddenly brightened up. “Heh, if you see it that way, I suppose it’s not too bad. I’d even say Hokuto would like waking up at your place!”

“What do you mean by that?” Her face felt a bit warmer, weird.

“Ah, nothing,” his smile was kind of going against that statement. “Let’s bring this guy to your flat then. Help me get him on my back so you can close the shop.”

“Got it,” she said as she rose to her feet, doing as she was tasked to do, and recovering both her apron and the keys inside its pocket.

A couple minutes later, Anzu had left the shop in its optimal closing state: all clean, lights switched off, door locked behind her. Once that was said and done, glancing at both of her friends, she let out a sigh of relief.

“Thank you, Mao.”

“You’re welcome! Now, that was nothing, let’s get him home, shall we?”

Glancing one last time at the unconscious Hokuto propped on Mao’s back, she nodded.

“Yeah, let’s go.”

#ensemble stars #enstars #anzu (enstars)#isara mao #hidaka hokuto #sickfic #whumptober2019 #no. 10 #unconscious #loss of consciousness #fever #friendship #otp: konpeito chou cream #fic: nurse cafe #AU: coffeeshop #au: college #brotp: hardworking comets

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