I own nothing. All credit goes to C.S. Lewis and Hiro Mashima.

JUNG

It was bitterly cold that night, so cold that only a few snowflakes made it all the way down to the icy street. Jung caught one of the brave ones on an outstretched palm, stifling his coughs for a moment. It melted quickly and Jung shivered, shoving his hands into his pockets and ducking into the nearest bar. His senses were instantly inundated with sound, warmth, and light.

"What!? Gray broke up with his boyfriend again?!" came a shout. Jung raised an eyebrow and headed into the nearest dusty corner, coughing into his elbow. In the center of the bar were the sort of people he liked least; an annoyingly large bunch of idiots making a lot of noise and drama. The shout came from a red-haired girl, who was threatening a spiky haired pinkette with a butter knife. The pinkette in question held up his hands innocently.

"Don't look at me! I had nothing to do with it?"

"Where is Gray now? Juvia is worried…" bemoaned another girl with deep blue locks, throwing her head down on the bar.

"Ah, don't worry. He's probably out brooding like always. Now is the time for drinking!" yelled a decidedly drunk woman with blue tattoo showing on her bare abdomen. Jung squinted, putting one hand to his aching head. It couldn't be. Not that awful, crazy, drunken riot known as—

"—Fairy Tail! We do not quiet down for anyone, no matter which Paslan goonies you call!" the drunken woman yelled at the frightened fawn. Jung looked at the bar tender sympathetically. Poor guy. A dry cough shook Jung's frame and he winced as he stood. This damnable fever. He was getting all warm again, and he wanted to escape back into the icy cold. He stumbled to the door and left the noise behind him, breathing a sigh of relief-only to break out into a fit of coughing.

He stumbled back against the wall, the cold penetrating his lungs cruelly. The fit subsided and he put his hands on his knees, focusing his energy on staying upright.

"Hey man. Are you all right?" Jung looked up, but all he saw were the stars. They were burning like fire tonight.

"Whoa. Easy there," said the voice. Jung was irritated by the voice that kept pulling him away from the stars and the cold body that was suddenly supporting him.

"Leave me alone," he rasped, pushing the stranger away. He stumbled and fell, landing hard on the ice and gazing at the ground in bemusement. The voice sighed and Jung was dragged upright and slung over someone's shoulder.

"What-cough-are you-cough cough-doing?" he muttered.

"Keep quiet," the voice snapped by his head. "You'll just make it worse." Jung was about to retort somehow, but he was interrupted by a coughing fit.

"Wendy, can you come to my place? No, don't make a big deal out of it. I don't want to deal with the noise right now. Yeah, I'm all right. Yeah." Jung struggled to lift his head, confused. Who the hell was Wendy? The stars disappeared and he was met with a wash of warmth again. Too bad, he thought, struggling to breath, I rather like the cold.

GRAY

Gray watched the kid struggle to breathe with some concern as he kicked open the door to his apartment and laid him down on the bed. He looked younger than Gray did, for God's sake, with a messy mop of brown hair and feverish brown eyes wandering behind large owlish glasses. He was trying to stifle his coughs, to no avail, into one thin, bony hand.

"Hey, I'm-cough cough cough-fine. Just-cough-leave me alone," the young man said. Then the kid's eyes rolled back and he went limp in Gray's arms, breathing harshly. Gray frowned. The guy lived in Magnolia, the richest city north of Aslan's How. The city was bursting with wealth and people and animals from all over the continent, ever since the new Paslan had been elected. Why did he look so wretchedly unhealthy?

"Is he going to be all right?" he asked quietly, without looking up. Wendy stepped in and shut the door quietly behind her, hurrying over to the bed with Charle in her wake. Wendy bent over the kid and put her hands out.

"Yes, I think so," she murmured after a moment, a frown creasing her forehead. "I'll do what I can,"

"What does that mean?" Gray asked, but Charle glared at him as Wendy closed her eyes and started healing.

"Leave her be," Charle said. "She's tired, so this will probably take a lot out of her." Her tone was accusatory, but Gray made no reply. He wasn't in the mood to compromise. The two watched the scene in silence. Under Wendy's hands, the young man's breathing slowly eased and his clenched fists uncurled. Wendy opened her eyes, swaying.

"Are you all right, Wendy?" asked Charle, eyeing her carefully. "You've been training hard lately." Wendy smiled faintly.

"Yes, I'm fine. I'm worried about this man though. He was very, very sick, and has been for a while now. I healed his fever, but his lungs are very weak. He's on the verge of malnutrition too."

"I'll take care of him now, Wendy," said Gray, nudging her gently towards the door. "Get some rest." Wendy smiled and took Charle's paw as she left.

"Thanks, Gray. Call me if he gets any worse, OK? Just keep him warm and hydrated, and he should be OK until morning." Gray nodded.

"Oh, Wendy?" She turned. "Don't mention this to the guild, for now. I just want to be left alone for a while." Wendy smiled and nodded. As she shut the door behind her, he sat down by the bed of the patient in question, musing quietly.

Wendy must really be tired, or she wouldn't have left any sick person like that. Well, they had been training hard lately. After what happened down in Archenland...Gray sighed. Well, the North Army had come and the day was saved, but only at great cost. The entire Fourth Legion had been wiped out, and if those centaurs had died, who could—he shook his head, dispelling his dark thoughts. It had just been one of those days. Of course, breaking up with Rawley probably had something to do with it. Gray winced at the thought of the brash young Fawn. Rawley yesterday, Jillian two months ago, Gavin six months before that…what was wrong with him, anyway? He remembered Rawley's accusing eyes and he turned back to the man in front of him. One problem at a time.

The person in question lay deathly still on the bed. Gray sighed. Leaning forward, he stripped off the jacket, then drew back. The poor kid looked even unhealthier now, wearing just plain gray t-shirt under the thin jacket. In fact, he looked downright ghastly in the fluorescent lights, all pale skin and sharp joints.

"Jeez, who wears t-shirts in winter?" muttered Gray, lifting the blanket up and pulling it over the thin body. "Only I'm allowed to do that, idiot." He turned off the overhead light and watched the chest rise and fall. Such short little breaths…