Warmth slowly seeped through him. It felt strange. Almost like he would get occasional hot flashes through the cold. Little by little, they became less intense, but more consistent. His head was pounding, and he felt like he was sinking into an over-sized, too-hot-yet-not-hot-enough cloud that was seeping into his skull and wrapping around his brain. It felt… not good, but better than that all-consuming cold.
Slowly, as the cold ebbed away, his other senses began to regain functionality. First came the sounds, trickling like rain through his permafrost of awareness. Voices, primarily. One concerned, motherly. Another low, gruff, but kind. And the last. The last never seemed far away. It was gentle, sweet, sincere, and soothing.
Next came touch. One by one, he was able to pinpoint the sources of the warmth across his face and wrapped around his body, along with the dull throbbing in his right arm and his left shoulder, and the soft fingers brushing across his face and running through his bangs, lifting his head slightly and pressing a cup to his lips.
That's when taste returned. A sweetness to counteract the sharp bitterness that he hadn't previously realized was swelling his tongue and clogging his throat. It was all he could do not to guzzle as much of the warm liquid as he could, but frankly he couldn't seem to lift his head high enough to do so anyway. Those soft hands pulled back slightly, as though in warning, and he was forced to settle for what little she was willing to give him. It wasn't actually that little, when it came down to it, though. She just gave it to him slowly, drop by drop, careful not to overwhelm his weakened body. He hated to admit that she was right to do so, but eventually he settled back, focusing on remembering how to swallow while breathing deeply as his sense of smell slowly returned.
Herbs and perhaps a hint of fruit. That was the most pervasive scent. He couldn't identify them, but it smelled sharp and bright, and oddly comforting. But somewhere underneath that was another scent, also sharp, but dark, and somehow metallic. It made his stomach churn, and he pulled away from the cup that his caretaker had been holding up to his mouth.
The cup drew away, and unfortunately so did those gentle hands. He found himself trying to reach for them, but his way was obstructed by the heavy blanket. He wanted them back, wanted them to run through his hair, wanted them to take the pain away. It was selfish, and probably unreasonable, but still… he wanted it so badly.
"Do you think he'll wake up, Grandpa?"
"...I'm sure he will, Shirayuki."
Shirayuki.
He'd never wanted more to be able to open his eyes. To smile at them and tell them his name, to reassure them that he was alright. That they had saved him.
Saved me…?
He couldn't seem to think of why he'd needed saving, but his body seemed to. His breath quickened. His heartbeat pounded in his ears. His chest felt tight, his eyes hot. Was he crying?
The hands were back. Her hands. Shirayuki's hands. Brushing away his tears, feeling his forehead, bringing the cup back to his mouth. He didn't resist this time as she gently poured the liquid between his lips.
"It's gonna be alright," her voice whispered softly. "If you can hear me, I promise you. I promise that it'll be okay."
Maybe it was because of the tears, but as her fingers drew back, he noticed a thin sliver of light in the edges of his vision. A light that slowly grew brighter, followed by blurred shadows that gradually took on shape and color as he blinked.
"You're awake! How do you feel? Are you in pain? Can you… Can you understand me?"
Slowly, her face began to come into focus. Round, with a small nose and radiant emerald eyes, framed by the brightest crimson hair he had ever seen.
She's beautiful.
"H-Huh?" The girl gaped, a faint pink flush touching her cheeks. She looked even more lovely that way, he thought. But the thought was already fading, sinking back into the oblivion of sleep.
.oOo.
Shirayuki stared at the boy as his head slumped to one side again, his eyes flickering closed once more. Had… Had she heard that right? It was just one word, mumbled so softly that she'd barely registered it, but… had he called her beautiful?
"Shirayuki?"
"Huh?!" she yelped, turning to look up at her grandfather.
"Uh… is he awake?"
"Oh! Um, I think he was, but just for a few seconds. He seemed pretty out of it. Honestly, he may even have been sleep-talking."
"Did he say anything that might help us figure out who he is? A name maybe?"
"No, not that I could tell. We'll just have to wait until he wakes up for real."
"Alright, I understand. Here. You'd best eat before it goes cold."
"Oh. Thanks, Grandpa."
Shirayuki accepted the small bowl of soup and the chunk of bread he handed her and began to eat quietly, all the while keeping a watchful eye on her patient. He really was looking better, a healthy flush replacing that terrible paleness, his breaths growing deep and even. But still, she wished that he would wake up.
The boy barely stirred through the evening, even when Shirayuki changed his bandages, applying a new layer of pain killing and antiseptic salves. He did shift just slightly when she gave him some warm tea again, his eyelids fluttering uncertainly, swallowing obediently, as though in a daze. She wanted to stay up and watch him through the night, but her grandfather vetoed that idea, ordering her firmly to bed once night fell. She reluctantly obeyed, casting one last glance towards the sleeping boy as she settled into the other bed and closed her eyes.
She couldn't say how much time had past when a faint sound startled her awake. She heard her grandfather grumble sleepily beside her, and wondered if that was all it had been, when the sound came again: a weak, frightened whimper, like an animal in pain. Shirayuki sat up in bed, rubbing her eyes blearily, blinking up at the moon streaming through the window, trying to identify the source of that sound.
There it came again, accompanied this time by a rustle of fabric, and the soft, anxious whisper of a single word: "No."
In an instant, Shirayuki's attention zeroed in on the pale outline of the boy's face, turning from one side to the other, his breath fast and tight, still mumbling anxiously, his hand, free of the blankets, groping blindly outward. The young herbalist quickly scrambled out of bed, shivering slightly as the warmth of the blankets fell away and hurried to the boy's side. Up close, she could see that his jaw was clenched tightly, his eyes scrunched closed, while silent tears slid down his cheeks.
"Shh," she murmured soothingly, climbing on the bed to wipe the drops aside. "Shh, you're alright. You're safe now, I promise. There's nothing to be afraid of."
His face turned into her touch, his hand rising to grasp her wrist. Shirayuki squeaked in surprise, then blushed deeply as he pulled it close, clutching her hand to his chest. Instinctively, Shirayuki tried to pull away, glancing anxiously over her shoulder towards her grandfather, hoping against hope that he wouldn't wake up.
"Stay."
Startled, Shirayuki glanced back at the boy's face. His eyes were still closed, his breathing still quick and shallow. He appeared to be asleep, so why…?
"Don't… don't leave me alone."
Shirayuki froze at the desperate plea, understanding suddenly flooding through her, then a calm sense of determination. "Shh, I'm here. I won't leave you, I promise. I'll be right here for you, always."
The boy seemed to relax at her words, a soft sigh escaping his lips, his grip on her hand loosening. Shirayuki carefully slipped her hand free, then walked around the bed and climbed onto the other side, sliding underneath the top blanket and positioning herself close to him. Then she reached out, placing her hand gently in his, rubbing her thumb gently back and forth across his palm. She watched, smiling, as his fingers curled over hers and he settled into the pillow, each breath growing deep and even, the tension slowly leaving his body. Then, little by little, she too drifted off to sleep.