Chapter Text
“Pathetic…” Rerir stared sharply at the figure lying helpless on the bed. Flins.
“Can a fae even get sick?” He sat down on the edge of the bed, his hand reaching out to touch Flins’ forehead.
Hot.
Flins doesn’t answer. Instead, he just lets out a weak groan, trying to pull himself away from Rerir, though he can’t really move because his body feels so weak.
He cracks his eyes open just a bit, catching a blurry glimpse of Rerir sitting next to him. The dizziness makes it hard to focus, so he quickly shuts his eyes again — every time he opens them, the pounding in his head just gets worse.
Flins thinks this might be his last moment. Rerir is here, he must be planning to take revenge for the destruction of his heart. And with his body this weak, Flins doesn’t stand a chance to fight back at all. Deep inside, he just hopes Rerir will kill him quickly, without making him suffer first.
Flins has never been afraid of dying. As a fae who spent his life guiding human souls, he’s always been ready to face death.
Rerir let out an amused snort, he can feel the despair coming off Flins.
His hand reaches out, gently brushing the fae’s face, sending shivers down Flins’ spine.
Rerir did come here for revenge, at least that’s how it started. He’d been watching around the lighthouse and the graveyard, but for the past few days, Flins hadn’t shown up at all.
Growing impatient, and maybe a little worried, eh? Rerir finally decided to just break in.
And this is what he finds— Flins lying there, weak and helpless, his body burning with fever. He looks thinner… and even paler than before.
“Little fairy, answer me. Can fae like you even get sick?” Rerir repeats his question. He’s known Flins long enough through their fight over his heart, and not once has he ever seen the fae get sick.
Flins still doesn’t answer, just starts coughing. If someone asked him why he’s sick, he wouldn’t even know what to say. This isn’t the first time Flins has fallen sick, but it’s definitely the worst. He figures maybe it’s because he’s been using a human body, so now he can get sick like any regular human.
Rerir lets out a heavy sigh. He stays quiet for a moment, just staring at Flins, who’s breathing heavily. Then he shakes his head when he notices what Flins is wearing — heavy, overly complicated clothes, even while he’s this sick.
“You should take this damn cloak off,” Rerir mutters, reaching for Flins’ clothes and carefully, almost gently? taking them off.
Flins doesn’t fight back — he just lets Rerir help him take off the heavy outer layers, leaving him in just his shirt. He’s a bit surprised at how gentle Rerir is being, but he’s too tired and weak to even ask.
He starts coughing again, clutching his chest. It feels awful, his throat burns, his chest aches every time he tries to breathe, and the coughing only makes the pounding in his head worse.
After that, Rerir moves his hand to Flins' neck, fingers curling like he’s about to choke him. He grins, “You’re so helpless right now, little fairy. I could kill you so easily, just by choking you.”
Flins gives a faint smile. “Then do it...” Honestly, dying like that doesn’t sound so bad.
Rerir’s face twists in annoyance. Seeing his enemy this resigned suddenly makes killing him feel... boring.
He tries to remember why he even hates that fae so much. Flins took his heart, even if it was by accident — and because of that, the sinner couldn’t return to his full strength. For so long, he kept trying to take his heart back from Flins, but back then he was too weak to fight that damn fae and always failed. By the time he was strong enough to face him, Flins had already gotten help from the traveler, and that’s when the sinner’s heart was completely destroyed.
That little fairy wasn’t the one who destroyed his heart. But if he hadn’t taken it in the first place, Rerir could’ve come back at full strength, quickly and without anyone ever knowing.
“What are you thinking?” Flins looks at the sinner with tired eyes, what could that monster be thinking? This is the perfect chance for him to get his revenge.
Rerir gives him a complicated look. “I really do wanna kill you... but seeing you this weak just kills the thrill.”
Flins gives a weak smile and shifts his position, turning on his side to face Rerir. He shuts his eyes, trying to sleep, staying awake just makes his body feel worse.
“You’re really gonna sleep? When the guy who wants to kill you is sitting right next to you?” Rerir asks, genuinely surprised.
Flins doesn’t answer. His consciousness slowly fades, and strangely, he feels... safe knowing someone's sitting beside him. Even if that “someone” sitting by his side is one of the five sinners of Khaenri'ah.
Rerir watch him until he was sure that little fairy is really asleep.
~
There’s nothing in the room. No food, no water. Sure, Flins doesn’t eat or drink like a normal human, sometimes he even absorbs food through his lantern. But still, this body he’s using now is a human body. He should be eating and drinking properly.
Rerir feels annoyed. No wonder the little fairy got sick. Working day and night, barely sleeping, hardly eating — it’d be weirder if he didn’t collapse like this.
What really surprises him is that in all the days Flins hasn’t come out, no one’s come looking for him except Rerir. Does no one wonder where he’s been all this time?
He remembers there was a young Lightkeeper who seemed close to the fae — a guy named Illuga — but even that guy hasn’t shown up these past few days.
After wandering around, Rerir comes back to Flins’ room to check on him. That fae is still asleep, breathing slow and heavy. Rerir sits down on the edge of the bed again, staring at him quietly. He’s admitted it to himself a long time ago — Flins is kinda pretty, especially with that long, soft hair.
He reaches out, running his fingers through Flins’ hair. Soft… really soft, it makes him wonder how the fairy takes care of it. He brings a lock of hair closer to his face, breathing in the scent — it’s smells calming, though he can’t really describe what it smells like. His eyes go back to Flins’ face, seeing it scrunched up uncomfortably. No way he’s getting peaceful sleep in this condition.
He presses his forehead against Flins’, feeling the fae’s hot breath. Then he gives a small smile, “Hang in there, you fool. Don’t you dare die unless it’s by my hand.”
He pulls the blanket up, covering that fragile body, and then gets up to leave.