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“Don't do this to me Alfyn...” Therion muttered under his breath as he gazed worriedly at the apothecary.
Alfyn's expression was pinched, his eyes shut and his face flushed as he lay in the narrow bed. He kept flinching and tossing his head from side to side, probably troubled by feverish visions.
Therion didn't know much about medicine. He'd had to patch up his own injuries every so often, but seeing Alfyn under this affliction made him feel powerless.
What was he supposed to do when the healer was the one who was sick?
Therion's knee bounced up and down idly as he flexed his toes without notice. If the others had been here, Ophilia could have probably helped, or else someone could have gone to fetch another apothecary. There must have been one in a town this size.
But he and Alfyn had gone on ahead without them, and they weren't supposed to meet up again until the next day. So Alfyn only had Therion. It was up to him to fix this.
Anxiety churning in his stomach, he sighed and made his decision.
He lay a hand gently onto Alfyn's arm, and softly said “I'm gonna go find someone who can help you.”
As he started to pull away and rise to his feet, Alfyn's hand shot out to grasp his wrist. The apothecary opened his eyes, though his gaze was wild and unfocused.
“N-no...” he murmured, his voice thick but edged with panic. “Don't go. Don't leave me...”
Therion bit his lip. The look on Alfyn's face made his heart clench painfully; he seemed so afraid, his brows knit together, and his hair sticking up in disarray even more than usual.
Would he be alright without medicine? Maybe the fever would eventually break on its own?
“What would you do...” Therion softly breathed, wishing that Alfyn would hear him and answer. But the apothecary had already lain back, chest rising and falling with his rapid breathing, and the faintest of whimpering coming from his throat.
Damn this delirium, Therion thought. He needed Alfyn...
But... Alfyn also needed him.
Therion sat back with a sigh, resigned. He couldn't leave him alone; not like this. If he lost consciousness, then Therion would go and find help. But in the meantime... he could only hope that Alfyn's body was fighting and that he would be okay.
His heart twisted to see his friend in pain. The urge to reach out and take his hand was almost overwhelming.
It was disconcerting to Therion, who was so used to keeping people at a distance, to extending his trust in only the most measured and careful of ways.
But Alfyn had proved himself to have no ulterior motives in offering his friendship. The apothecary was an open book – he radiated kindness and was generous to a fault.
That was why it was so hard to see him suffering. Alfyn didn't deserve pain. His life should by rights be filled with only good things.
Therion's fingers twitched in his lap, moving to rest onto his knees. They crept forward, almost of their own volition, until his fingertips gently skimmed Alfyn's arm.
After a moment of hesitation, Therion moved his hand once more, draping his palm over Alfyn's clenched fist.
He shot a look at the apothecary's face but saw that his eyes were still tightly shut. As Therion watched, the strain and tension seemed to ease from his expression, his eyelids peacefully at rest rather than clenched and creased with distress.
Alfyn's breathing also seemed to slow, and his fingers loosened under Therion's grip.
The thief rubbed his thumb across Alfyn's knuckles, unable to help the soothing gesture. His touch seemed calming to the feverish apothecary.
Therion's heartbeat stuttered then sped up as the hand beneath his turned, interlacing their fingers lightly. He waited, tense and ready to pull back, but Alfyn didn't move, didn't speak, didn't open his eyes.
Letting out a slow breath through his mouth, Therion let his shoulders gradually sink and his fingers relax, experimentally squeezing the hand they were cradling.
He shifted his gaze, eyeing Alfyn once more, and saw the softened set of his mouth, his head lolling to the side, and his muscles seemingly at ease.
Had the fever broken? Was he asleep? Either way, Therion's worry seemed to melt away. He could stay here with Alfyn, and he wouldn't need to watch him suffer.
His heart was... full, somehow. Was this what it felt like to care for someone?
His cheeks flushed at the thought, but he couldn't deny that the sensation of Alfyn's hand clasped with his own felt... comforting. Nice.
He was glad that he could stay here at the apothecary's bedside. Therion found that his eyes kept returning to Alfyn's face, watching him as he lay peacefully.
The thief had never noticed how long his friend's eyelashes were. They fluttered periodically, caressing the very tops of his cheeks, the same sandy blond as his hair.
And there was something about Alfyn's mouth, wasn't there? Therion was used to seeing those lips curled up in a genial smile, or pulled back into a full-toothed grin. But even at rest, his mouth was... gentle.
Therion's fingers twitched again, gripping Alfyn's hand more tightly.
He took a deep breath. Should he let the apothecary sleep? What if his presence wasn't necessary anymore?
Maybe if Alfyn woke up, he'd be embarrassed to find himself holding hands with his friend...
Therion blushed once more, but despite his doubts, he couldn't seem to make himself pull his hand away.
No – he should stay. In case Alfyn needed him.
At that thought, he heard the apothecary softly whimpering again.
Alfyn's brow was creased once more, and his breath was quickening.
“No...” Therion whispered, squeezing Alfyn's hand, “no no no... it's okay, I'm not going anywhere.”
He raked his free hand through his hair, frantically trying to think of what more he could do to ease the apothecary's suffering.
An idea occurred to him, and he parted his lips, drew in a breath... and faltered.
He didn't have a great voice... not really. But, then again... Alfyn probably wouldn't remember any of this tomorrow...
The apothecary let out a tiny, pained moan, and it was enough.
Breathing deeply through his nose once more, Therion began to sing.
A barely audible humming, at first, just for his own ears. But then his voice came a little stronger, a little surer, and he let the words escape his lips.
He didn't remember where he'd first heard the melody, but he'd always liked it. Sometimes it ran through his head when he was trying to sleep, and he found it comforting. He hoped it would comfort Alfyn as well.
Therion gazed at Alfyn's face, saw his expression relaxing once more, and allowed his voice to project just a little bit louder.
He nearly faltered when the apothecary's mouth twitched. Was that a smile? Was he awake and aware?
Therion shook his doubts away, continuing to serenade Alfyn softly despite himself. He didn't remember all the words to the song, so he simply hummed the parts he didn't know.
The lyrics weren't important, he told himself. It was his company that mattered. He wouldn't leave Alfyn alone.
He sat in the dark, his hand clasped around Alfyn's and his eyes resting continuously on his friend's face, and Therion sang.
He awoke the next morning, groggy and confused, to find himself bent over in his chair, his head resting next to Alfyn's arm on the bed and their fingers still entwined.
When had he fallen asleep, he wondered as he sat up. Gingerly, Therion pulled his hand free of the apothecary's, his heart suddenly hammering in panic at the thought of his friend waking up while still in his grasp.
Apparently, he hadn't been careful enough, as he soon heard Alfyn's sudden intake of breath and saw him shifting in the bed.
The apothecary blinked his eyes open blearily but smiled when he saw Therion.
“Hey...” he murmured, his voice scratchy and weak.
His expression made sudden tears prick at the back of Therion's eyes, though he couldn't understand why.
He cleared his throat. “Hey yourself,” he offered gruffly, safely tucking his now free hand away in his lap. “You feeling better?” he asked.
Alfyn gave a shallow nod. “Yeah...” he answered softly, “a lot better...”
Therion smirked. “Good,” came his sardonic reply, “cuz I'm no apothecary, and I'm sure you'll know how to take care of yourself better than I would.”
Alfyn closed his eyes, but a serene smile curled onto his lips.
“I dunno about that,” he ventured, his voice a bit stronger now. “I'd say you did a pretty fine job of it.”
Therion blinked, his mouth dropping open.
“Wh... what do you mean?” he muttered, averting his eyes hastily.
He could feel his cheeks heating. Had the apothecary been awake that whole time?
Alfyn's voice was kind when he answered. “All I remember is that I wasn't alone,” he replied, opening his eyes again, “and that I didn't need to be scared because of it. That no matter what the fever made me see, I'd be okay 'cuz you were with me.”
A warmth rose in Therion's chest, and he couldn't help the smile that tugged at his lips. “Yeah?” he asked softly, as if for confirmation that Alfyn really meant it. Could he really mean it?
A light chuckle answered his question.
“Yeah,” Alfyn confirmed. His eyes sparkled with mischief. “And ya've got a pretty nice singing voice, too.”
Therion's eyes widened as the blood drained from his face. He hadn't...
“Ah, don't make that face,” Alfyn chided him with a laugh. “I liked it. It was calming.”
His eyes turned serious.
“Thanks, Therion,” he expressed, his eyes showing what emotion his voice couldn't, “for takin' care of me.”
Alfyn reached down, taking Therion's hand in his own, squeezing his fingers fondly.
As the blood rushed back into the thief's face, every manner of dismissive response flashed through his mind. It was nothing – he'd only done it because he hadn't had a choice – Alfyn shouldn't get the wrong idea – he'd better not tell anyone about this...
But in the end, he only smiled shyly, his fingers tightening against the apothecary's gently as he said:
“You're welcome, Alfyn,”