Oh, for the longest time I loved Grayza. I loved her and I loved him and I loved THEM and I wanted her to realise just how special he was. Somewhere along the line I was discouraged and just defected to the default canon pairings - looking at you guys, Jellal, Juvia - and the anime put an extra sort of swing on Gray and Lucy as well, which is not a pairing I dislike by any means. It made me sad to see Erza gradually replaced by Lucy in his eyes, though. Well, at least that's what I think happened. I see her growing apart from them and I hate it but I don't think it will stop.
How come Grayza stories have a rant at the start? xD Silly me. Anyway. I wrote this midsummer. And it was hot. And I would have killed to have Gray around.
PEACE AND QUIET
Erza's room is her sanctuary, where, after enduring the fights and explosions and enthusiastic yells from the main guild hall, she can retreat and sit quietly, solitary.
She might read or polish her armour, brush her hair, practice lines, requip a new outfit and check it in the mirror, organise her impressive inventory. She is free to do it alone in her room, and it is rare that others come to visit her. The girls of Fairy Hills know that Erza enjoys her alone time as much as being around others, and they respect her privacy.
But now that she is sick and feverish, she tosses and turns beneath the covers, shying away from the light intruding through her open curtains. She is messy and tired, uneasy and restless, and each place she moves quickly warms to the sweltering temperature of her skin. She's rid herself of clothes, clad only in her underwear, and sweat beads on her forehead, legs and arms, running back from her temples to soak her red hair.
Gasps and pitiful moans break the silence.
She is unresponsive when Bisca knocks softly on her door, inviting her to lunch with the other girls. Erza never just ignores anyone, so Bisca assumes she is off on a job. Nobody had seen her for a while, after all. Erza doesn't have the strength to call out to her and ask for help, ask her for water, a cold washer or a bucket of ice. She is delirious. The quiet of her enormous room has turned against her.
Anything would be better than the sound of rustling sheets, or her own voice, panting heavily, in and out, in and out, sucking air greedily through her mouth as a way to combat her blocked nose. She slips into uneasy sleep where she dreams of lava and volcanos and sometimes of Natsu's fire, and when she wakes her throat burns because of the way she has to breathe. She is bedridden, thus dehydrated, and she wishes for someone to invade the privacy she usually needs respected.
She can't look after herself this time. It is the fourth day, and the fever is yet to break.
Will her team come looking for her? Or would they also assume she's taken a solo quest another bridge to peace and quiet she resorts to, when four people, one cat, so many arguments and self-sacrifices stress her. Maybe she shouldn't have begun doing things independently again...
But how long has it been since she took on one hundred knights alone?
She tries to think, but ah... she has no sense of time anymore anyway.
It's hot, it's hot, it's hot, it's hot and she hates it.
She thinks it's a dream, the low, soft voice, the grumble and the shifting of the sheets draped haphazardly across her semi-naked form. She hears or she thinks she hears a sharp intake of breath, and then suddenly there is something chill against her forehead, something cool against her arm, across her back. She moves towards it instinctively, making no connections between reality and the fantasy of what she wants, who or what this cold thing is. She's being lifted, but she's dizzy, and she's been dizzy for so long she barely recognises a difference.
But then water, iced and refreshing, is held to her lips and poured soothingly down her throat, and her hands grasp blindly for whatever she's drinking from glass, cup, bucket, she wouldn't know. She manages only to fasten herself around something strong and muscular. An arm, perhaps, if whatever this is has arms, and she giggles through her delirium without recognising anything is funny.
There is that voice again, she thinks, and her pillow is soaked with sweat like the rest of her mattress; so when she is let gently back down it has been removed. Instead there is a hand, or so she thinks, and beside her, to her right, the bed creaks as somebody lies down.
Her skin is burning, hot to the touch, the heat more alarming on her than on the fist of Natsu Dragneel, flying fast and furious towards his face. The bed is uncomfortable, and even the exhibitionist blushes at her unclothed state, tries to keep himself from thinking about the slickness of her legs and the heaving of her stomach and chest even as he wraps his arms securely around her and brings her close, barely clothed himself, trying to counter her heat with his chill in the best way he knows how.
She makes a noise, and it's somewhere between a sob and a moan, and Gray feels this pang in his chest that he gets sometimes with Erza, when she's been stupid and hasn't had anybody help her hasn't let anybody help her when she lets things build until it all escalates far beyond her limits. He wonders, as she shifts on her side, now, resting her head on his arm, why she does this to herself, and why she still doesn't trust him enough to help. Such a harsh fever could not have been so sudden. Why didn't she tell someone anyone that she was unwell before it became this bad?
Gray is a worrier by nature, and in the last year he has had more than enough reason to fear Erza's mortality. She never seems to realise it herself, how much others care for her.
And him-
Why did it take him so long to realise something was wrong?
He shouldn't consider her absence normal. Not without the announcement of her departure or the look they share fleetingly whenever they go solo - stay safe, stay safe, please stay safe, please. He should trust her more, not sulk lonelily, fending off Juvia half-heartedly in an effort to distract himself. Gray knows, that even if she feels for him what he feels for her, that Erza isn't the type to throw herself at him, or squeal, or fawn. He knows this, and he accepts it as part of her, but he wishes that just once, she would come to him and him alone for help. Honestly.
At least, he thinks, grinning, there is no one that will ever trump his fever-destroying abilities, even if people have been known to forget he exists when placed beside Natsu on the battlefield.
The back of Erza's hands press against his jaw, her forearms running the length of his chest. Her fingers curl and trail softly against his skin, and as she begins to fall into sleep deep, this time her breathing becomes even, her tensed muscles relax.
"Stay here," she whispers, so quietly, and then she is gone, resting properly, finally, and Gray's chest swells contentedly as he matches his breathing to hers. Through lidded eyes he watches her face, framed by dirty, messy hair but peaceful and, despite her cracked lips, red-rimmed eyes and leaking nose, it is still her face, and he beholds it as something beautiful and powerful still. Gray summons courage that has been lying dormant for almost eight years, and holds her closer. He eases his head forward, his cool lips meeting the fiery skin of the girl he likes, at that moment his and his alone, in the peace and quiet of her room.
PEACE AND QUIET
Go get her, Gray! I'll cheer for you!