Flora/Helia - taking care of the other when sick. For a guest reviewer on . Reminder that requests for this prompt list are now closed.
Helia bends lower over one of Flora's recipe books and runs a long, artist's finger over the plant names that her elegant script spells out.
"Matricaria chamomilla," he reads aloud, forcing his uncooperative tongue around the unfamiliar Linphean sounds. He straightens and paces around his girlfriend's workroom, searching the many shelves for the correct jar.
He's made this particular remedy enough times that he can almost recite the recipe off the top of his head, but he's also been on the receiving end of enough of Flora's lectures to know the danger of mixing up even a single ingredient. It's why, when he finally finds the vial of white flowers, now yellow and brittle from the drying process, he doubles and triples checks every letter on the label before adding a handful to the bowl.
When he thinks he's finished, he runs through the list once again to confirm that he hasn't missed anything, before picking up the heavy, marble pestle that's half of a set he gave Flora for her birthday the year before and sets to work grinding it into a fine powder. While he works, Helia keeps an ear out for the sound of stirring coming from the rest of the apartment, and he takes care not to make too much noise as he finishes brewing the tea.
When it's finished, Helia pours it into Flora's favourite cup and carries it carefully into their bedroom, where it's only when he pushes open the door and sits on the edge of the bed that Flora wakes up. Flushed cheeks give away her feverish state, and the grogginess of her sleep lingers longer than it usually would.
"Helia?" she murmurs, and he winces in sympathy at her scratchy voice.
"I'm here. I thought you could do with some tea."
"My throat soother recipe?"
"Yeah."
Flora struggles to rise so he sets the cup on the side table and helps her sit up, rearranging and fluffing the pillows so they support her back. While they work together to get her comfortable, he fields her endless questions about the tea.
"Did you steep it for 4 minutes and 40 seconds exactly?"
"Yes, dear."
"And you added a pinch of citrus limon?"
"Yes, love."
"But only the rind, right? Because I have it dried also."
"Just the rind," he confirms. "Dried is better for colds, I remember."
Where the questions might usually be cause for a flash of irritation, there's no way he can get mad at her when she manages to smile despite her sickness and reach up with an unusually warm hand to touch his face reverently. "Thank you," she whispers, accepting the cup and taking a sip. She sighs and shuts her eyes in contentment at the taste. "It's perfect," she says, and that alone makes it all worth it for Helia.