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He still had work to do.
Lysithea had assured him that she'd already gone to Lady Rhea and explained why he'd be missing in action for the rest of the day – or, more likely, she'd asked Manuela to do it – but he still couldn't help the itching, the rising anxiousness he felt every moment he wasn't cleaning or fixing or doing something. Even through the fog of a heavy, pounding headache, a throat rawer than a freshly killed chicken, and a nose so stuffed he could barely breath through his mouth, he still couldn't shrug off the feeling of useless that was steadily seeping into him.
Lysithea had stumbled upon him around midday, barely aware of himself or his surroundings, just idly sweeping the steps to the second floor dormitory. She'd been half-way between shocked and angry when she'd realized the state he was in, and despite all of his protests and limp assertions that he was fine and he had to work and no he did not want to go to the infirmary Lysithea-
And here he was. Tucked into one of the infirmary cots, finally feeling the full weight of the exhaustion he'd been staving off for at least a couple days by now, but still finding it increasingly unbearable that he wasn't at least mopping a corridor or cleaning a counter.
But, he'd been ordered to stay in bed, and he'd always found it hard to disobey orders.
Manuela was still gone – she, too, had been beside herself when Lysithea came dragging Cyril into the infirmary, and he'd gotten an earful about waiting too long to come see her and something about how he needed to take better care of himself and see her when before it got this bad, but he had to admit he'd barely been able to register what she'd been saying. Lysithea, meanwhile, had dipped out a short time before. Something about tea that he also hadn't fully caught. Otherwise, she hadn't left his side since bringing him here.
He had to admit, he liked that part. He liked spending time with Lysithea period, especially since she'd begun to teach him how to read. It was... fun, in a very different way than working around the monastery was.
Ah, thinking about chores again. The itch came back. Sitting upright, a move that made him dizzy for the briefest of moments, he glanced towards the open infirmary door; maybe, if he was quick and quiet enough, he could slip to the library. There was always dusting to do there.
He pulled back the covers and very, very slowly got out of bed. His legs were a touch shaky, but he could stand mostly fine. Taking a deep breath, he carefully began tiptoeing towards the door.
Pfft, he knew they'd been making a fuss for nothing. He'd worked through worse.
… Is what he thought, until he was only paces away from the corridor and another dizzy spell hit. He fell to a crouch, holding his head in both hands and letting out a groan.
“What are you doing out of bed?”
He almost groaned again, hearing the all too familiar voice above him. He vaguely heard the sound of metal clinking against stone, and suddenly there was a hand grabbing his chin. It gently but firmly lifted his head, forcing him to meet Lysithea eye-to-eye. Again, her expression was halfway between angry and concerned, with maybe a touch of frustration in the way she sighed in his face.
“Come on, get up,” she said, her tone leaving no room for argument. Cyril obediently allowed her to help guide him back to his feet. She immediately slipped under his arm to prop him up, and lead him back to the bed.
“What were you doing?” she chastised as she guided him back into the bed. “You can't be moving around like this in your state!”
“Aw, c'mon, Princess,” Cyril groaned, unable to deny that the second his head hit the pillow again the idea of getting up again was growing less and less desirable. “I gotta finish my chores't least.”
Lysithea spun on the spot, heading back towards the doorway. She crouched down and immediately popped back up, a metal tray with a plain white teapot and two teacups sitting on it in hand.
“Don't call me that,” she said with an exasperated sigh, coming back to his bedside, “And no, you do not. Ms. Manuela spoke to Lady Rhea, she knows how sick you are and she said herself that you need to rest.”
“But-”
“Nope. No arguing.” Lysithea nodded to the tray. “I made tea.”
She set the tray down on the bedside table and poured both of the teacups full from the teapot. Setting aside the teapot, she grabbed both of the cups and gestured for Cyril to sit up; he hesitated, and then pushed himself upright, grabbing one of the cups from Lysithea.
“Thank you,” he mumbled, enjoying the warmth from the cup seep through his hands. He took a sip, and though he found it hard to properly appreciate the taste through his stuffed nose, he recognized it immediately. A small smile tugged at his lips, and he said, “Where'd you get this?”
Lysithea smiled proudly. “Professor Byleth has a ton of different flavors in her room. I remembered you mentioning you like Almyran Pine Needles during one of our lessons, so I asked if she would let me have some, and she even showed me how to brew it! It's excellent, isn't it?”
Despite his exhaustion, Cyril couldn't help but let out a quiet chuckle. “Yeah, s'great. Best tea I ever drunk.” He took another sip, savoring the warmth and faint, dulled flavor as it slipped down his throat.
Lysithea beamed.
The two sat together for a time, quietly finishing their tea. It was a good, calming silence that fell between them, similar to the kind that happened often after their “lessons”, when Lysithea would linger longer than she had to just to watch him read by himself, occasionally piping up to help him with a word or two. They sipped their tea, pausing only to chat idly. It was... relaxing, and despite his foggy senses and aching body, he found himself (not for the first time) wishing this moment could last forever.
When they finished, Lysithea gently took the cup from Cyril, placing it back with hers on the tray.
“You should get some rest,” she said, picking up the tray. “Ms. Manuela said she'd be back soon to check on you. If you don't fuss too much, I'm sure you'll be able to get back to your beloved chores soon. And, if you're feeling better tomorrow, maybe we can get a little reading done.”
Laying back down, a lazy grin crossed Cyril's face as he relished the tiredness and warmth the tea had flooded him with.
“Thanks, Lysithea,” he said. “For, y'know, takin' care of me. I owe you one.”
“Of course,” she said, smiling wide and lifting her head as she turned to leave. “I guess this means that the next time I fall ill, you have to take care of me.”
Cyril felt a fluttering in his chest. “Well, it'd be my honor,” he said, and let out a chuckle. “G'night, Princess”
Lysithea's cheeks turned a light pink, and she whirled around to face the direction of the door. “I told you not to call me that.”
Still, a heartbeat passed, and she couldn't help the fondness in her voice as she replied, “Good night, Cyril,” and swiftly exited the infirmary, leaving Cyril to his rest.