HER
By the time dawn creeps through my window, I'm more exhausted than I was when I came up to bed. The dreams linger, heavy in my body as I go to get dressed.
It's been days since I slept properly. I'm sure everyone notices, but no one says anything until the afternoon.
I find myself standing in a hallway, arms—which I am sure just had things in them—now empty. Turning, I see the pile of things scattered a few feet away, where I must have dropped them.
I shuffle over, sinking heavily to my knees. My movements are slow as I gather the things again, and I drop a tin of baking soda more than once trying to put everything back in place.
When large hands take the tin from me I don't even question it. I'm probably dreaming again. But no, these hands aren't the ones from my dreams. I glance up to see Aleksi's worry-covered face.
"Laura?"
I shake my head, trying to force thoughts loose, but to no avail.
"Alright. That's it." Curiosity sparks faintly, but my tongue is too heavy to give it shape. I'm still trying when I'm lifted off the ground.
A startled gasp works its way out of me, the ground miles away. Before I can protest, Aleksi is carrying me, strides long and steady.
If I was more alert, I'm sure I would notice the way his arms feel around me, the way he smells, how warm he is. But all of this barely registers, because I'm no longer on my feet. Drowsiness crashes over me, and I'm gone before we even hit the stairs.
—
When I come to, it's from a gentle knocking sound.
"Aleksi?" I mumble, confused as to how I got here. I'm in my bed, full uniform still on, but rumpled beyond help. Groggily, I try to get my bearings pushing myself up onto my elbows. Crust coats my eyes and makes it hard to focus them.
I squint at my door, which appears to be opening. A hulking form ducks through the doorway, gently calling my name.
Rubbing my eyes rather violently, I call out:
"Aleksi?" My voice is heavy with sleep, and I swallow uncomfortably at how dry I find my mouth to be.
What on earth happened?
HIM
After knocking for what feels like forever, I decide she must still be asleep, so I gently open the door and peek in. To my surprise, she's half propped up on her side, rubbing her eyes so hard it must hurt.
"Aleksi?" Shivers wash over me at her voice, usually so crisp and assertive, now soft and groggy. I swallow.
It looks as though she hasn't moved since I brought her up here; her uniform is still in place, her bun now loose and askew.
When I found her earlier in the hallway, I almost had a heart attack. It's been abundantly clear the last few days that something is wrong. Each day her dark circles grew deeper, she grew quieter, and she became slow and clumsy at her work, even by my standards.
This isn't the first time she's seemed off; it's taken weeks before for her to shake off the dead-eye look she sometimes sports. But when I turned the corner to find her on the floor, barely conscious, picking up and dropping things repeatedly, I had to do something. I scooped her up, meaning to take her to her room to sleep even though I knew she'd argue about it. I didn't expect her to fall asleep immediately.
And for her to curl further into my arms.
When it happened—when her arms tightened around me, her face burrowing into my neck—I forgot how to breathe. My face was so red I'm surprised it didn't burst. Even just now, walking up the stairs to bring her supper, my heart was hammering so hard I'm surprised it wasn't echoing in the stairwell.
And now here she is, sleepy and somehow… adorable?
She seems to be gaining more consciousness, though, because she suddenly snaps into a seated position.
"I have to get to work." Panic makes her try to throw off the blankets I put over her and stand up, but I stop her.
"Laura, stop. Don't worry about that."
"But I have to—" She looks so lost I can't help the soft laughter that comes out of me.
"It's a little late, Limonskiy; you've been asleep for hours." This is apparently the wrong thing to say because she goes into a fit of panic, and I have to plead with her, describing exactly how I told Mrs. Hobbs she was ill and needed the day to rest, just to keep her in bed.
Now she sits up, tray of food on her lap, frowning at me suspiciously.
"And you're sure this is alright?"
"Yes, Limonskiy, now eat. Mamka made it special for you."
"Mamka? I've heard you say that before." She asks, tearing off a piece of cheese bread that I requested Mamka make—and had to bribe her three months' worth of smokes for—into the soothing soup.
"Mrs. Kozlov?"
I nod, making sure she eats from where I sit on a comically small stool next to her bed. She smiles softly, and—to my utter surprise—laughs. Light. Breathless. It's so rare it knocks the air out of me.
"Cute." In my head, I know she's calling the nickname cute and not me, but clearly my heart doesn't, because it flips wildly. I look down at my hands to hide the heat that her simple observation brought to my cheeks.
"Thank you for this, by the way." She groans as she takes another bite of the food, and the sound settles in my stomach. I shouldn't feel so happy to have her thank me, to have her enjoy the food I had made for her, to have her finally look somewhat conscious because of me.
But I do.
I fight to tamp down the sense of accomplishment that forces its way up my throat. I clear it before responding:
"Don't mention it."
To my surprise, she sighs, discontented.
"I feel as though I owe you a lot." Her frown is one I've come to recognize—she's pouting. I bite my cheek to keep from smiling, and the familiar coppery taste fills my mouth.
Even this doesn't stop my joy.
"You don't. If anything, I'm just trying to pay you back for the livery." I eye her, trying to gauge her response. We haven't talked about this, though I've been dying to bring it up.
She sighs so deeply it transforms into a groan.
"It wasn't that hard."
I hum softly, unsure how to untangle the clump of emotions that have been forming in me since I found out.
"But you hated me then. You had no reason to do it."
She shrugs as if it means nothing.
"Do I need a reason to have done it?"
Yes.
"No." I respond, echoing her casualness. She narrows her eyes at me and clicks her tongue.
"Fine. I did it because I thought it was good what you did, standing up for Amber like that. And anyway, it's not as if it's your fault you have more muscle…" She trails off when she sees my grinning.
"You like my muscles?" I tease, giddy.
"That is not what I said, and you know it." Her glare just fuels my enjoyment.
"I can read between the lines." I retort back, wiggling my eyebrows playfully.
"Oh, shut up, you idiot." Her pout returns with full force, and I feel like I'm going to burst from glee.
From her being flustered, of course.
We continue bickering until she has finished every spoonful of soup, and I see her eyes start to grow heavy once again.
I take the tray from her, and she slips contentedly under the covers. Expecting her to fall asleep right away, I creep quietly out of the room, and I'm about to close the door when I hear her soft, tired voice drawl from the bed:
"G'night Aleksi."
My heart squeezes to the point of pain. But it's nothing. Really.
"G'night Laura." I whisper back, but her breathing has already evened out as I close the door between us.