Chapter Text
“...Achoo!”
Pulling out a tissue from a box nearby, llluga wipes his runny nose from sneezing. Weary eyes stare at the lifeless ceiling in his room at Piramida, hands adjust the wool blanket to fully cover his trembling body.
Great, Illuga is sick.
Oh, even more than being sick.
Fingers carefully touch the nasty bruise on his forehead, the young man recollects the situation.
.
.
Just yesterday, Illuga was still healthy as he returned home from an urgent investigation mission. 5 A.M, a completely normal time for a Lightkeeper to finish their task. Yet, as he closed the front door, dizziness drowned his head, and after a fraction of time, Illuga involuntarily collapsed on the floor.
It’s hurt.
The young man weakly responded, yet his first instinct was to ensure his lantern, or rather the precious companion resting inside it, didn’t get injured by the sudden fall. Hazy vision captured the familiar golden radiance, and relief soon filled his wavering heart at confirming the nightingale's safety.
However, the place he came into contact with the floor felt extremely painful, as if a drill had pierced his skull. A faint metallic smell lingered in the air, and Illuga finally admitted the severity of the situation. With all his might, the young Captain lifted his body, searching for anything to cling to, before powerlessly falling back onto the cold floor.
It was no use, Illuga must call somebody.
Half-conscious, he tried to remember the name he could think of.
Ivar, doctor of the Lightkeepers….
Incoherent sounds escaped his lips as Illuga instructed Aedon, and his gaze trailed the companion as it shot through the door at the most absurd speed he had ever witnessed. Exhausted eyelids soon snap shut, followed by a chain of coughing and sneezing.
Before his vision faded, Illuga mumbled the first name he actually recalled, one that came to him even before the doctor’s.
Kyryll…
“...”
Silence engulfed the room as the young Captain lost consciousness. A few minutes later, multiple footsteps rushed into the room. As the Lightkeepers performed basic first aid and carried him away for treatment, Aedon extended its wings to prepare for a long trip.
Soaring into the sky, the golden nightingale made its way towards the Final Night Cemetery…
.
.
“Cough… cough…hah— Achoo!”
An abrupt sneeze attacks right after a series of coughing. How torturous.
Illuga hates this. Endless drips of mucus roll down his throat, casting trails of fire along the way. Whenever coughing, he can feel his entire body shaken, air forcefully pumping out of his lungs as if his sore throat is slashed into a hundred slices of flesh.
Sniff.
His nostrils are so disgustingly damp from whatever is sticky inside. Illuga tilts his eyes to the side table, counting in silence the number of tissue boxes that have been wasted on wiping his nose.
One… two… five…?
What is the number between two and five? Wait… it should be numbers, but what are they…?
Only listing sequential digits and Illuga already loses track of it. He can’t help. His head feels so overwhelmed and heavy and dizzy, as if a mountain has migrated in his brain and stayed there forever. To make matters worse, he starts to hear imaginary sounds of drums, slapping his ears whenever a fierce cough happens. It doesn’t hurt physically, yet Illuga feels so annoyed.
And weak.
And useless.
Actually, it’s not that Illuga always attacks himself with such harmful thoughts, at least not that much after he started a relationship with the blue-haired Lightkeeper. However, change takes time. And this situation proves that he’s still incapable of taking care of himself.
Illuga faintly recalls.
It was a hazy memory, but the main cause of this disaster was undoubtedly overwork. Yes, Illuga has always been a workaholic, to the point that he came forward to handle the tasks that were supposed to be somebody else’s responsibility (better than anyone, Illuga fully understands that somebody doesn’t exist, because the Lightkeepers are short-handed after all). However, that fact shouldn’t be the reasonable explanation for Illuga to abandon his sleep for five days straight. Who the hell would have believed this young and energetic Captain had completed half of Ratnik's work in less than a week?
He had destroyed his sleeping habits just like that, and even skipped meals. Don’t get the idea wrong, Illuga was known for his exceptional cooking skills and was often seen scolding his squadmates for not eating properly. The young man also followed his rules, preparing a full-course meal of meat and vegetables (in rush hour, he’d likely cook something that requires fewer techniques, but Illuga enjoys cooking for himself and others so much that he always makes more servings than necessary). However, as soon as he finished cooking, an urgent mission would call for his support. Until he returned, the food was already gone cold like ice.
Illuga wasn’t picky, nor was he a brat. But to be honest, he couldn’t stand cold dishes. And just like that, he began to eat instant food and even skipped meals in case of an emergency. (If Flins had been there, none of this would have happened, probably. Yet, the Fae couldn’t always follow his Young Master because they both carried grave responsibilities.)
Whatever happened, happened.
On the latest mission, his body couldn’t suffer from the intense workload anymore. Illuga was extremely hungry. Fortunately, or unfortunately, an unusual mandragora was spotted, and Illuga enthusiastically grabbed it, ignoring its bizarre colour. As he was about to swallow the grumpy creature in one gulp, a weird smell caught his nose, and instantly, the young man threw the poor creature away. He sniffed and coughed afterwards, but it wasn’t that serious. Until Illuga came home did the incident happen.
(From Ivar’s speculation, Illuga must have been exposed to a mutant mandragora, contaminated by an unidentified virus. As the young man was already weakened from overworking, it ended up this mess.)
Creak…
The door opens slowly, snapping Illuga out of the turmoil occupying his head.
The familiar tall figure enters the room, both hands stuffed with boxes and boxes.
“Young Master, I just greeted Miss Aino and Miss Ineffa on your behalf,” Flins gently places the cartons in the corner of the room. “Miss Aino gave you one of her TV friends to spend your leisure time with, and Miss Ineffa brought herbal soup. They wish you a healthy recovery, and…”
The blue-haired man hesitates before letting out a sigh. Heavily.
“...They're waiting for our return to the mechanical class. Miss Ineffa will gladly prepare extra Krumkakes for us.” Flins glances at the young man’s panicked eyes, just like his when he first heard about this. “Miss Aino was so innocent and eager, I couldn’t say more to postpone our scheduled meeting. But please don’t be afraid, we’ll successfully ditch the class together.”
Even without his clear mind, Illuga is sure Flins’ last line is a scam. The ragebaiter will never stop ragebaiting. That’s his unforgettable lesson from being too believable in the Fae regardless of the situation just because Flins is his senior. Never, ever again would Illuga let Flins lead him by the nose.
Oh, and it’s worth mentioning that most of his friends are already informed about their relationship, making the mission of skipping Aino’s class even more impossible. (Of course, they congratulate the couple, except for a few warnings about Flins being cunning and incredibly teasing, and that Illuga must not fall into his traps. It was a joke between close friends though, since those warnings were from Miss Nefer and Sir Varka.)
“I really appreciate their visit and present– cough,” Illuga sits up from the bed and attempts to say something, yet his sentence keeps getting cut off. So annoying. “What about the other boxes?”
“...One is from the Frostmoon Scions, Lauma personally prepared supplements and canned food in case you need them after returning to the job. The other is from Jahoda, which is a new version of Tabletop Troupe acquired from the Hydro nation. She hoped you and I would be able to join a match together with your Fontanian friends.” Flins smiles softly, a smile that never fails to calm Illuga whatever the situation. “I’m looking forward to meeting your friends, so please get well soon.”
“Thank you everyone— cough, especially you,” Illuga gives out a bashful smile as he stares into those yellow pupils. “You don’t have to come all the way here just to take care of me, you know? Final Night Cemetery is far from here, and you still owe us three reports that should’ve been submitted three days ago.”
The tall male slightly twitches at hearing that word before returning to his usual composure. It still hits the Captain how ridiculous it is for such a powerful being like Flins to be so scared of writing reports.
“How could I not feel worried? Aedon also has the same thought,” Flins recalls the image of the frantic golden nightingale crashing on his back as he was just finished patrolling. Thanks to Aedon that Flins was able to learn the situation. “And I already asked Linnea to look after your companion for the meantime, later on she would come here to pick him up.”
Illuga nods, knowing full well the ‘complicated relationship’ between Aedon and Linnea. Yet, he knows his companion would fully understand this decision, because the advisor is the most knowledgeable when it comes to nature.
“Taking care of me doesn’t erase the fact that you still need to write reports, Sir Flins.”
“Yeah I know, but…” the blue-haired man slowly approaches Illuga, his one hand lifts Illuga’s chin up. “…I thought you preferred to call me by my name.”
Kyryll.
Most of the time, people forget that ‘Flins’ is his surname.
“…But you’re the one asking me not to call you by your first name.” Even though I really want to. “You said it took some time for you to… prepare and get used to it.”
Indeed, addressing a Fae by his first name isn’t a trivial matter, let alone the one calling is his beloved Young Master. Flins can count the number of humans who have called him by his name on one single hand. Yet, the way Illuga says his name is different from the rest, so it’s obvious for Flins to get used to it.
However, there’s more than that.
“For the time being, you may call me whatever title you want,” Flins remembers just a few hours ago, Illuga had been murmuring nonstop in his fever, and his own name was the only coherent sound he could make out. His hand holds Illuga’s sweaty one and places a kiss on it. “I’ve said it long ago, I’m yours.”
“Then, I’ll say whatever I want…”
Blue and red eyes instantly soften as the name escapes his lips.
“...Kyryll, I love you.” Illuga doesn’t want to drop this cheesy line out of nowhere, yet his mind can’t help but replay their first confession nonstop. “I’ve also said this before, but it’s with your surname. How’s that?”
I really can’t handle this.
Flins doesn’t have a heart, but he’s sure that if he had one, it would’ve exploded.
“Better than anything I could imagine.” The tall man leans forward and tilts his head. Just as he’s about to shower Illuga with kisses, the young man gently pushes Flins’ mouth away.
“Kyryll, I’m sick, remember?” His lips curve into a helpless smile. “No kissing until I recover.”
It’s a common rule to avoid close contact with sick people, especially those with infectious diseases. Of course, the Fae knows this, but…
“Young Master, you know full well that I’m not human, so how can I catch a cold? Have you ever seen me fall ill?”
No, not once in his life has Illuga seen the man cough or sneeze. Flins is originally a fire, as expected of a Lantern Fae (the Captain is smart and clever, so it isn’t difficult for him to research Flins and his supernatural nature).
“But still, it’s better to be safe than sorry. So no kissing until my sickness is gone, got it?
“...Not on your lips?”
“Of course!”
“...Perhaps on your cheek–”
“Nope!” The young man crosses his arms, eyes warning. “No kissing on my cheek, forehead, shoulders, hands, or anywhere! And no hugging as well!”
“But you just let me kiss your hand.”
“T–that doesn’t count! From now on, no-physical-contact!”
Shit. This is even more than execution. How can Flins stay alive without touching his beloved nightingale? He swears later on that he will hunt down and exterminate that one mandragora behind all of this.
“...All right. Please excuse me, it’s time for your lunch. I’ll go and prepare.”
Apart from his salmon signature dish, Flins is no exceptional cook. Glad that Ineffa has brought the herbal soup with a portion enough for both of them in two days. (Can’t blame the man though, human food tastes nothing in his mouth.)
Flins smiles politely and walks away. Gazing at the tall figure leaving, Illuga can obviously spot two stray tufts of blue hair flattened as if they’re in sorrow.
Sometimes Flins really does look like a cat.
Illuga grins and mentally notes to use this knowledge against that man’s teasing someday.
“Say ahhh,” the blue-haired man grins, hand holding a spoon full of soup. “Is this how you feed a sick person?”
“Not only for sick people, but lovey-dovey also does that,” Illuga’s face grows redder as he speaks before recognizing the obvious teasing. “You fully know this, do you?”
The Fae has little to no experience in taking care of the ill, let alone spending most of his time at Final Night Cemetery, a place where the only sickness would be death itself. Yet, he recalls the etiquette learned from his time as a Chudomirovich aristocrat, and the knowledge from those dusty books in the study room beneath the lighthouse.
“The soup will soon turn cold if no one consumes it,” both long eyelashes form into two curves as Flins grins again. “Say ahhh.”
“...Ah…”
“Great job, Young Master.” Enjoying the view of Illuga, slowly sipping the soup and swallowing it with a flushed face, the Fae digs another spoon into the bowl. “How does it taste?”
“Nom nom… very yummy. Ineffa’s cooking skills never disappoint.”
“Is that so? Let me have a taste.”
“No!” Illuga grips the ther pale hand before he can gulp the entire spoon in his mouth. “Don’t try to cheat, that’s an indirect kiss.”
Correct.
“...Feed me, quick.” Illuga opens his mouth, waiting. “I’m starving.”
This way, you won’t get any chance to tease me.
“...As you wish, Young Master.”
Pale hand repeats the act of feeding the silver-haired man, yellow pupils dart between the spoon and Illuga’s puffy face. Despite failing to achieve his little goal, the Fae still smiles playfully at the confused red and blue eyes. Because those unbelievably adorable cheeks and the satisfying expression of the Captain while tasting the food are already enough to let this Fae silently sob in happiness.
“Where did you get those apples and sunsettias?”
“Oh, these fruits?” Flins places the basket on the table and sits on a wooden chair near the bed. “Varka just dropped by and sent you a bunch of Mondstadt specialties.”
Flins recalls the sight of the Favonius Grand Master struggling to carry the cartons and suspicious barrels, which obviously contain his proudest delicacy from the Land of Freedom. There was also a mint-haired young man following behind. Flins had met him quite a few times before, either while grabbing a drink with Varka at The Flagship or when visiting the Favonius camp for reinforcement. Despite the prince-like appearance, his ‘unique impression’ still lingers in Flins’ mind as those bloodthirsty red eyes always go back and forth to seek a worthy opponent.
“Did he say something to me? It has been a long time since I last visited the Favonius camp.”
“Still the same wish for your health and, of course…” Flins clears his throat, imitating the blonde. “Let’s celebrate your recovery with a small party at the Flagship! My subordinates and I will gladly join in with tons of Dandelion Wine, ha… ha…”
“Pfff, Sir Varka won’t ever laugh like that. It should be like this.” Illuga rests both hands on his hips, his chin slightly tilting upwards, lips curving into a broad smile. “HA HA!”
The silver-haired man enjoys hearing the Grand Master’s cheerful laugh, as it never fails to lift everyone's spirits despite the situation. It feels the same for Flins, yet a joke between drinking buddies must exist for Flins to live up to his reputation: ragebaiting.
“I’ll consider his invitation once my conditions get better… Wait, are you peeling apples? For me?”
“Of course, who else would these fruits be for?” Pale hand elegantly holds the knife and slowly removes the red outer layer. “Oh, are you full already?”
“No, it’s just…” Illuga attempts to cover his rosy cheeks with the blanket, yet it’s of no use since his eyes keep trailing those delicate fingers caressing the lucky apple. “...I’ve never been fed and taken care of this much since I was a toddler. It feels…weirdly nostalgic.”
In the past, only the current Starshyna and a few of his senior Ratniks had treated the young Captain with such tenderness. As Illuga grew up, he learned the harsh reality of being an adult, being a Lightkeeper, and soon after, he no longer required any help whenever he fell ill. Time flies, people come and go. The colleagues he once regarded as found family have long sacrificed for the greater good, save for Old Man Nikita. One day, the young Captain will step forward to become one of those admirable figures, like his adoptive father and other honorable fallen comrades.
“It’s hard for highly responsible people like you to get off work because of this minor sickness. Yet I don’t consider this a lame reason for you to take a rest.”
Flins gracefully cuts the apple into equal pieces, his voice turns softened even though yellow pupils are unable to meet Illuga’s melancholic gaze.
“Being vulnerable isn’t always a weakness, Master Illuga. Moments like this are precious for you, at least that's how I see it. Seeing your friends and comrades visit you is enough to put me at ease.”
Because my Young Master is well-loved by everyone around him. That matters the most since I can’t always stay by your side.
“You’re right.”
The young man again recalls every one of his close friends and their sincere wishes for his recover. Red and blue hues involuntarily find the other's gorgeous eyelashes falling before quickly glancing at the fruit in the pale hand.
“…It reminds me again of how devastating overwork can be to a living being.” Illuga lets out a small smile. “And it is always you who makes me realize that. Perhaps I’ll have to rely on you for quite a while.”
“Please save your thanks for next time.” The Fae tilts his mesmerizing eyes to greet Illuga, one finger teasingly poking at his own cheek. “This would be a better way to return the favor, Young Master. I already saw you staring at my lips while I was peeling this cute little thing in my hand.”
“How could you—“ Ah yes, that freaking blue lantern is on the table. Illuga has long discovered that it can share the vision with its owner. “T—that’s only because there’s something on your lips!”
“Oh, is that so? Then could you wipe it off for me?” The Fae lifts his head and grins playfully at the face before him.
“Too close!” Both hands cup the pale face in front of him and gently push it back to the original position. “I don’t want you to get sick as well, one person is enough!”
Better than anyone else, Illuga knows this no-kissing rule is meaningless since they have already touched skin several times and breathed the same air (wait, Flins doesn’t need to breathe). Yet, it’s a sight for sore eyes to witness Flins’ teasing, especially his cat-like face. Just now, two stray tufts of blue hair dropped down in distress as if they were cat ears, before straightening again.
“You have forgotten your mission,” the young man points at his mouth. “Give me my apples."
“Yes, Master Illuga.”
“And don’t you dare try any tricks on me this time.”
“…Yes, I understand.”
Weirdly obedient. Yet, the silver-haired man has no time to question that Fae's abnormal behaviour. Because the apple tastes so darn good. His mouth can still feel the crisp texture and freshness of the slice, with faint sweetness lingering on his throat even after he swallows it, truly a blessing of nature (No wonder people say ‘an apple a day keeps the doctor away’, Illuga should ask Sir Varka to bring more apples next time.)
“You seem to enjoy the fruit, don’t you?”
“Yup, you should try one slice…nom…nom. It’s fruit, so you can have some as long as you don’t use the same fork.”
“I’m good for now.” Those puffy cheeks move again. Someone please save this Fae from the cuteness. Perhaps he can use their favourite trick after Illuga is done eating.
…
“I’m thirsty, and it’s time for medicine.” As soon as finishing his fruit, the young man searches for something to clean his throat. “I thought you already brought a large water bottle here.”
“Indeed, I was. But I forgot to clean the glasses, so there’s only this bottle…”
The mischievous Fae grins before slowly taking a sip of water. Yet, he doesn’t swallow it but instead keeps the liquid in his mouth.
Oh great, Illuga is so done. Because he knows what’s going to happen next.
Flins shamelessly points to his own lips, his long fingers tap them.
Drink me, Young Master.
Oh fork, Illuga can’t handle this. It has been so long since they last did this messy act of kissing, probably on his last visit to the lighthouse before being assigned for missions at Kipumaki Cliff.
Before dating, the blue-haired man had always been worried about Illuga’s dehydration to the point of handing him two water buckets at once. (Repeat, two darn buckets full of water, not two little cute glasses!) Yet, never in his life could the young man dream that their relationship would progress beyond just two normal colleagues, and not once in his life could Illuga imagine they would share this tasteless liquid using their mouths. He didn’t remember who first initiated this wild idea, yet as soon as their lips touched, his mouth was soon filled with water and the sweetness of Flins.
The kiss was messy. Glistening trails of silver gradually leaked from the corners of their lips, intertwining together just like the two silhouettes unable to separate from each other’s warmth. Dull water never tasted that delicious, and kissing never felt that addictive to Illuga. Their clothes were undeniably drenched from their sloppy movements, and the following events were cherished moments that the couple kept for themselves.
Therefore, Flins’ act right now isn’t any different from unlocking a Pandora box.
Illuga instinctively gulps, shaky eyes pin at that slender finger tapping against those cool lips. How could he win against the demon arising in his chest? How could he defeat the ridiculously genius teasing of that Fae? And that man is even grinning knowingly as if there’s no way his Young Master could turn the tables.
No, you’re wrong, Flins. Because Illuga still has the secret ‘weapon’.
“...Kyryll, please hand me the water bottle. Or else I’ll swallow this in one gulp.” Illuga picks up the large pill and hovers it near his lips, miserable puppy eyes blinking at the tall male. “You don’t want to see me choke to death over something like this, do you…my beloved Kyryll?”
Ah sheet, this is so cringeeeee, who the hell said this is a good tit-for-tat when one can’t handle the situation? (Illuga should ask the Traveller again for their questionable taste in books.)
But wait… it does work.
Just as Illuga finishes his pleading, his ears catch the sound of Flins choking on water.
The Fae can’t remember the last time he choked this hard. Flins must’ve forgotten that his nightingale can also tease just like him, as expected of the young man who has dealt with a certified ragebaiter for far too long.
“I won’t tease you again…Young Master,” the blue-haired man wipes the water dripping from his chin, yellow eyes defeated. “I’ll get you a glass, please don’t risk your life because of this trivial matter…and don’t say my name that abruptly with those eyes…”
Illuga takes that back. This trick is absolutely brilliant. (The next time meeting with the Traveller, he must thank them from the bottom of his heart.)
Darkness has draped over Piramida for several hours. Amid the chill of midnight, the Captain's house is still shining bright, or rather, only the ground floor is glowing.
Knock. Knock.
Just by hearing the firm sound, Flins already knows who stands behind the door.
“Long time no see, sir Starshyna.”
“It hasn’t been that long, Flins.” The middle-aged man chuckles, his body resting on the sofa. “How’s Illuga? I heard from Ivar that he caught the flu.”
“Illuga is doing well with his recovery. Despite having had a fever twice, he’s eating and resting just fine.”
“I’m glad to know… What about you, why are you dressed like that? And what’s that smell?”
“Ah, this…” The blue-haired man glances down at the adorable kitchen gloves embroidered with little nightingales on both his large hands. Wearing Illuga’s white apron, Flins reluctantly admits. “…Can’t let our poor Captain eat the same meals every day, so I’m trying to make salmon porridge for breakfast tomorrow. But, you see…”
He messes up the entire kitchen, with three failed pots lying miserably at the corner of the washing basin. Nikita can clearly spot the suspicious black smoke coming from one of them, which is undoubtedly the source of that terrifying smell he has captured since opening the door.
Most people know full well the exceptional taste of the blue-haired Lightkeeper in wine delicacy, and some even have the chance to savour the man’s skill as a temporary bartender for the Flagship. However, this gentleman isn’t the most knowledgeable when it comes to human food.
Flins mostly consumes nutrition through his lantern, so there’s little to no meaning in cooking for himself, except on some occasions in which the Fae must pretend to be a completely normal human by joining social gatherings. (Thanks to a ‘certain Captain’ who often scolds him about his slender figure does Flins start enjoying humans’ tasteless food.)
“…No wonder Illuga always praises you as the most considerate gentleman despite my warnings.”
Ignoring the obvious frown of ‘what warnings?’, Nikita recalls his son’s soft smile and sparkling eyes whenever the Fae’s name is involved in their discussion. As a father, he has long since noticed Illuga’s feelings for the blue-haired Lightkeeper.
“You’ve spoiled my child too much, haven’t you?”
“Indeed, I have.” Flins lets out a laugh, yet his yellow eyes can’t help but soften. “Who wouldn’t have done that to our precious young Captain, sir? If not me, the other Lightkeepers or his friends would still gladly take care of your child.”
“But my son chose you, Flins.” The old man stands up and pats Flins’ sweaty back for staying in the kitchen the entire night. “I know you’ve been hesitating about whether to carry out the bonding ritual with my son. Don’t you hide it from me.”
“…”
The Fae’s expression is unreadable, but it’s already a confirmation to Nikita’s inquiry.
“I’m not a sentimental man, but I must admit I do worry about Illuga’s future if he binds himself to you. Forming a lifetime contract with a Fae is no joke, and I’m his adoptive father. However, Illuga is strong, and I believe in him. Shouldn’t you know that better than anyone, Flins?”
“I have always placed my faith in his capability. Yet, I’m afraid the weaker one here is… me.”
Yes, Flins is the weaker one. He can’t bear to see his Young Master being with anyone else, yet he also doesn’t want to bind Illuga to him forever. Once the vow is made, both sides are tied for life, and the Fae certainly has dominant control. It is said that Fae and Fairies are charming and magical, but also mysterious and cunning. A nod to accept such vows equals the eternal engagement to always be together. And the human will carry a Fae’s mark for the rest of his life, even in their next life, as long as that Fae is still alive.
Binding with a nearly immortal race isn’t a fairy tale story. Some admire this as unlasting love, while others refer to it as an unbreakable curse. Until the wheel of time ceases its motion, life after life, humans will be shackled to the same Fae.
Yet no matter what others may say, Flins still needs time to gather his thoughts.
“Oh, so even you can admit you’re weak now? I never imagined my lovely son could make such a powerful Fae like you this restless.” Nikita again laughs, yet the blue-haired man can clearly sense the sincerity radiating from each word. “...Illuga has chosen the right one, then this old man doesn’t need to worry anymore.”
Turning towards the door, the Starshyna waves his hand, voice louder as he speaks.
“Take all the time you need, just make sure you take good care of my son. I’m leaving him to you.”
“...What did you just say? I couldn’t catch it well.”
“As for the porridge, keep stirring while heating the pot, and remember to maintain low heat, or it’ll burn just like the other three disasters. Lightkeepers’ tasks don’t finish on their own. Bye, I’m off for now.”
Pretending to be deaf huh, old man?
Flins shakes his head and returns to the kitchen. He is well aware that the Starshyna has taken over his son’s duties for the young man to rest without much worry. Or perhaps, Nikita is already at ease after knowing his precious son is under good care, so he feels no need to interrupt Illuga’s sleep.
Staring at the pot, Flins carefully watches the time and follows the old man's previous instructions.
After four attempts to prepare a healthy meal for his Young Master, the Fae finally succeeds.
Illuga slowly opens his crusty eyes. It’s still too early since the sun won’t rise for a couple of hours, yet the young man is already awake. Coughing a few times, Illuga tilts his head, and his vision is greeted with the sight of Flins resting while still sitting on the chair. His nose instantly catches that suspicious smell lingering in the air.
What have you done to my kitchen while I was sleeping?
The young man sighs, yet he can’t help but let out a warm smile.
Flins and Nikita weren’t the only ones in the room last night. Eavesdropping on them from afar, even without a clear context of the conversation, Illuga could still make out some of the sentences. (It was a miracle that he was able to suppress his coughing and sniffles.)
I have long prepared myself to bind with you forever, Sir Fl– no, Kyryll.
The silver-haired man presses a soft kiss on those cool lips of the Fae before pulling out a large blanket to cover him.
“Long-lived species like him won’t ever get sick. After all, fire can’t catch a cold.” The young man grins confidently at his logical assumption.
Two days later, Illuga completely recovers from the flu. However, just as the Captain is about to return to his job, he freezes at the sound of coughing from the blue-haired man.
Whatever happens, happens.
Kyryll Chudomirovich Flins, the mysterious Fae who has lived for six or seven hundred years…
…has finally got sick.