Written for Shipping Week
Prompt: febrile
Pairing: Siffrin/Isabeau
The one time he finally reaches out, making contact and holding your hand, and you're barely conscious enough to react. There's movement on either side of you. Your vision blurs, darkening around the edges. Burning, burning, everything is burning, everything is on fire, but you're still so cold.
And... you hear voices. Fading and falling, you try to grasp the meaning of their words. You can just make out Odile's voice, stating that febrile seizures are not uncommon when someone skips the necessary cool down phase.
You close your eye, allowing yourself to drift for a moment. Isabeau is still there, standing beside your bed and holding your hand. You can feel... fingers intertwined with your own, so cold... is he... actually touching you...?
Why now, of all times? Maybe he's afraid that he's going to lose you. Or maybe he's afraid to let go. You're both trembling. And although your face is already flushed, your cheeks darken a little more. Yes, he's actually holding your hand. And it feels... nice? That's one way to describe it. Or maybe... maybe he's holding your hand because he doesn't think you'll notice. Your senses are dull, and your mind is lost in a haze of fever and confusion. Maybe... was it all a dream?
Isabeau wouldn't touch you. Not after what you've done. You're a disgusting, foul, loathsome excuse for a human being! And yet... you breathe in, shuddering as you feel his fingers close around yours, gently squeezing your hand. This time it's his choice.
Slowly, your eye opens, and although you can't see him, you know he's still there. His rough skin and callused hand snags the fabric of your glove, catches on the material before you begin losing consciousness once more. Something about his touch pulls you back. Breathing in, breathing out once more. You turn your head so you can see his face.
Maybe holding your hand is as comforting to you as is for him. Maybe he needs this right now. To know that you're alive, to know that he isn't going to lose you. Maybe... in this moment you are loved. Surrounded on all sides, a gentle murmur of voices. They care about you. And for a moment he catches you gazing up at him in a daze. He seems... a bit startled, flustered, perhaps. But he doesn't let go. He needs this right now. He needs you.
It's fine. Perfectly fine. Some day you might even learn to forgive yourself for what you did. Your lips twitch, the corners turning upwards in a smile. You squeeze his hand, too exhausted to form a complete sentence. It's enough to let him know what you're feeling. It's enough in this moment, and so are you.