That though would haunt her for years, how her cowardice nearly got the better of her in this moment. But she couldn't… right ?
Three minutes, approximately, after Myriam's departure, she sneaked through the door and progressed along the corridor to room 338. Distant voices of nurses discussing gently broke the silence, and the fragrance of coffee told her they were on break. Myriam's doing, probably.
Eleanor slid into the room, her heart beating a staccato. It they caught her… the slight purring of machines greeted her, as well as the rustle of sheets being suddenly pushed aside. Dim lights poured from the windows, but it was enough to catch a pair of sharp eyes watching her. When his gaze softened in recognition, she realised his eyesight was as acute as hers.
She brought a digit to her lips and approached with the duffle bag.
"Laurëfindelë", she whispered. "We need to leave."
"Leave ?", he frowned, his gaze surveilling the door with an intense wariness.
"Aye", Eleanor responded, mimicking walking away with her hands. "Danger for you."
She foraged through his pile of cards to find the danger sign; his body tensed at once.
"Raxë", he responded, his voice low.
Eleanor filed the word for later as she fished the hoodie, boxers and yoga pants out of the bag.
"You need to dress. Er… vaima ?"
Realisation dawned upon his face and she showed him the items. Curiosity washed upon his face as he picked up the sweater. She showed him to lift it up, but soon realised his arm range was still impaired when a grimace froze the corner of his mouth. Slowly, she scooted over the bed, mindful not to touch him when she slid the collar over his head.
When Laurefindelë emerged from the cheap garment, his eyes zeroed on her with intensity. Eleanor shuddered; she'd never been so close to him. His smell permeated the midst of scented shampoo and distinctive scent of new clothes. His glorious golden hair, still cut in different layers because of the burns, attempted to escape the hood. When Eleanor reached out to smooth wandering strands into the garment to hide them, her breath catching at the silkiness of it.
"There", she murmured, flustered. Eying the boxers and pants, she absolutely refused to watch when he shed the scrubs. Instead, she gathered the very few things that seemed to belong to him: the cards, but also a few items that laid in cupboards. There wasn't much – beside the food she's brought him - and if some items looked weird, she ignored it in favour of stealth.
When Eleanor turned around, Laurëfindelë stood awkwardly, as if unbalanced, clad in modern clothes that shouldn't fit him so well. Except that it did. She had hesitated long and hard on the hoodie, feeling like it was an insult to both his poise and disposition. But there he was, looking magnificent in the faded grey cotton, his fair skin almost glowing in the dark. How he effortlessly transformed a piece of low quality streetwear into a perfectly elegant garment was surrealistic.
Her eyes roamed down his silhouette, only to stop at his bare feet. Then, she realised her blunder.
Shite !
She'd bought clothes, but had entirely and totally forgotten about shoes and socks. Well, he would have to use the scrubs for now. Reaching out for the plastic footwear under his bed, she spotted the dark boxers sitting on the comforter. Boxers he should be wearing.
Oops.
Her mouth opened slightly; damn, he wasn't wearing anything under that pair of loose yoga pants. The reddening of her cheeks was thankfully drowned in the darkness. Eleanor shoved the offending underwear in the bag and gestured around the room. Anything that remained might be traced back to her.
"Is there anything left ? Your belongings ?", she whispered.
Laurefindelë gave her a puzzled look; she opened the bag to show him the items she'd shoved inside. His features dawned with understanding and he hobbled uneasily to the restroom. Eleanor bit her lip; he would need help to move around, and he was in no shape to run.
Laurefindelë emerged from the bathroom with strange, small items. Jewel like pearls landed in her hand, his warm skin brushing hers. A shiver ran down her spine at the contact, and she stowed the items away in a pocket in fear of losing them in the duffle bag.
Without a word, Eleanor put a finger to her lips and mimicked for him to pull the hood over his hair. The glorious tresses disappeared under cheap cloth, as well as most of his sharp features. But the intensity of his gaze did not lessen, awareness seeping into their very depth. Mesmerised, Eleanor studied the flecks of grey that littered his irises before recalling the reason why she'd barged in the middle of the night.
The young woman sighed, and pulled the door slightly open. The corridor was still empty, but discussion had died out. Either the nurses were doing rounds, either they were catching a little sleep before a machine woke them up. The latter would be easiest, but she had no way to be sure. A tall, looming silhouette stood at her back, Laurë's aura so strong that she felt the touch of his presence as if he'd allowed his hand to caress her spine.
Distracting man.
Eleanor took a shuddering breath as she tried to mute the overwhelming aura at her back to project her senses, intent on catching the slightest movement. And, sure enough, a door clanged a couple of rooms down when the nurse came to check on a patient. Eleanor stilled, and watched tooka peek; the nurse turned her back and walked dowards. This was their cue.
Eleanor grabbed Laurëfindelë's sleeve and hurried away from nurse central, her heart beating a mile a minute. She felt like a prey, or a child about to be dislodged after a massive idiotic prank. Only, this time, she would receive more than a spanking; terror pressed on her chest so badly that she wanted to run. But her friend's gait was terribly wrong, his progress impaired by healing injuries. Caught by the urgency, Eleanor decided to forgo every boundary they'd ever set, and slid his less injured arm over her shoulder.
His greater height was just right to use her as a crutch. A tingle ran through her flank as his weight fully settled against hers; his touch, even indirect, brought warmth and reassurance in waves. It felt so right that, for a moment, Eleanor forgot how stressful bursting him out of hospital was. Step by step, the end of the corridor approached, the door to salvation.
She was about to reach the handle when someone called in the darkness.
"Hey !"
Her heart nearly leapt out of her chest; they both froze, hoping the low lights would cover their presence. A gentle hand squeezed her shoulder reassuringly, a safe anchor in the midst of panic that softened her racing heart.
"Linda, what's wrong ?"
Myriam !
Eleanor nearly dissolved in relief; their guardian angel was here. Frozen, she didn't dare turn around to catch a glimpse of the scene. By her side, Laurefindelë held himself as still as a carving, shadows dancing around his frame, draping his very being. The sensation felt strange, as if silk veils caressed her skin.
The nurse who had called them out turned around, her scrubs squeaking on the linoleum.
"I thought I saw someone."
"Really ?", Myriam piped up, her voice loud in the heavy silence. "Didn't hear anything."
Eleanor tried, very hard, to push her body to move, but she was too frightened. A shiver ran down her spine when the nurse insisted.
"At the end of the corridor…"
"Nope!", Myriam responded cheerfully. "Really, probably a set of reflections…"
Laurefindelë's long arm slowly crept to the door and pushed, revealing a sliver of darkness. Eleanor didn't dare breath; darkness had never felt so appealing !
"Want some coffee ?", Myriam asked as Eleanor shook herself out of her trance and grabbed the heavy door; Laurëfindelë slipped through with a grace that belied his wounds. She followed suit, breath short and intense, then closed it behind her.
As soon as the discreet clang of sounded, Eleanor sagged against the wall with a heavy sight of relief. Her heart was still racing, spreading an uncomfortable ache in her chest as she tried to regain composure. The buzzing in her brain intensified, causing all senses to go haywire. Eleanor closed her eyes and took a deep breath. It didn't work; panic slowly crept up her spine, engulfing muscles and lungs in a vice grip as she tried, desperately, to hold onto reality.
Breathe, Ella.
But breathing wasn't enough. As her mind spiralled out of control, warmth engulfed her hand, providing the grounding she so desperately needed. Eleanor's eyes shot open, and she marvelled that, in the dim light, Laurëfindelë pale skin looked so vibrant.
"Har máriessë", he murmured, his voice akin to a song. (All is well).
His blue eyes seemed almost grey, half hidden in the shadows of the hood, but their intensity wasn't diminished. Breath catching, she watched as he engulfed her hand and splayed it against his chest.
"Return to the light", his voice echoed around her, seeping into her hazy mind.
He was the light, the one he prayed her to return to. And when he bowed his thanks, the tensions in her chest unlocked with wonder, allowing her to take a deep, cleansing breath. Yes, Laurëfindelë was injured, and ignorant of this world. But he also was strong and sturdy; he wielded the forces of this life like no other, imprinting this world with his existence alone. He owned a brilliant mind, one that learnt at an alarming rate. Less than ten days ago, he did not speak of word of English while he could now communicate the basics. To think that she, who had learnt so many languages in her life, was not even halfway there was a testimony to his skill.
Not to mention his sensibility to people's emotions. Many friends and psychiatrist had had trouble pulling her out of a panic attack, but Laurëfindelë had done so with so little efforts. Despite the current limitations of his condition, he still was a pillar of strength.
Reassured, Eleanor took a minute to compose herself, then tugged on his hand.
"Come", she said. "We're going home. Mélamar."
He followed with the hint of a smile hidden by a lonely golden strand.
So, now Eleanor's got an elf on her shelf hehe.