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Your eyes are heavy, like two anvils weighing them down. You can hear voices nearby, muffled yet harsh, like a whispered argument being had in a tone meant not to disturb you. You try and pry open your eyes, to see these two strangers. Where are you? Weren’t you supposed to be in a snowbank, frozen solid? Yet here you are, wrapped up in soft blankets that were far too nice for you to own, in a very warm room. At least you thought it was a room, you couldn’t tell.
You struggle to open your eyes, to lift your head and look around, but all you manage to do is roll slightly over on your side, a sluggish mumble escaping your lips. Something probably unintelligible, but it catches someone’s attention as the voices stop and footsteps start.
There’s a warm hand pressed to your forehead, your drugged brain cooing at this and trying to press into it. It rests there for a moment before gently brushing the hair away from your face, a soft voice gently emanating from the mouth of whoever this was:
“No, no… shhh. Shh, it’s alright. You’re okay now. Go back to sleep,” he urges.
You want to desperately follow its orders, but the pounding in your head starts the moment he finishes talking. A whimper escapes your lips as you try and move your arm to hold your head.
The man sighs, yet it lacks exasperation, sounding more like a worried parent.
“Techno, can you get some snow from outside?”
There’s a disgruntled snort from the other side of the room, not helping your pounding head, as a deeper, gruffer voice replies:
“Fine. ‘Supposed to be your pet-project though, Phil. I ain’t the one taking care of them.”
“You’re the one who found them with Ranboo. So technically, they’re your responsibility too,” the first voice - Phil - argues back as the sound of a poorly-oiled door opening and closing punctuates the end of the second’s - Techno’s - sentence.
“Sorry, he’s not always this grumpy,” Philza assures you, gently ruffling your hair as he stands up. You hear some clattering around and the grinding of something as you lay there, trying not to move and disturb your headache.
Eventually, after what feels like an eternity, the door opens again.
“Got your snow. Ranboo and Nihachu want to know how they’re doing,” Techno grumbles, setting something metal sounding down on the counter next to your head.
“Tell them they’re awake and I’m making something to ebb the pain,” Philza hums, grinding something together with the snow.
“Yeah, yeah, not like I was planning to,” Techno grumbles, heavy footsteps trudging up to the bed you’re currently in.
“I wonder if they can even hear us. Are they coherent or just lucid?”
“Who knows, but they react to touch.” You don’t have to see him to know he shrugged his shoulders, his voice carried such a tone well.
“Really now…?” Techno mumbles to himself.
There’s a brief pause before something soft is pressed against your forehead. It feels like a mink blanket, so soft you want to reach up and wrap it around yourself. Your head leans into it, rubbing up and down to feel the gentle fuzz against your skin. Only when he shifts his fingers through your hair do you realize - much to your embarrassment - that it was in fact, his hand.
“Huh… I guess you’re right,” he muses as he gently combs his hand through your hair.
“Might have a bit more to do with your fur as well.”
There’s an odd goat noise that sounds vaguely like ‘huh?!’ that sounds through the room.
“You have fur, Techno… not many people do as well,” Philza points out, the hand in your hair lifting away.
“Well, yeah. But that shouldn’t make a difference,” Techno argues grumpily.
“It’s not every day you feel as if a cat is petting you,” Philza chuckles, “Here, press this to their forehead.”
“Why do I have to do it?! Why can’t you!?”
“Because I have to keep making potions, you’re just standing there.”
“... fine.”
“Thank you,” Philza hums, the soft scent of something oddly sweet filling the room.
The calm lull in conversation is immediately disturbed by the cold compress pressed to your forehead. It’s relieving, calming down your headache as you lean into the hand that’s holding it to you.
“See, you’re a natural,” Philza chuckles from where he stands nearby.
“I have to get netherite soon,” Techno grumbles, shifting slightly.
“There’s always tomorrow,” Philza reminds him, pressing something nearby with a distinct click.
Shortly following, gentle music starts to play through the room, Philza humming along to it. Techno makes no more protests after this, relaxing and giving into the music that his friend(?) had put on. You remained weakly on whatever bed you’d been placed on. Too tired to move beyond leaning closer into Techno’s hand.
“It’s okay, you can sleep,” you hear him whisper, readjusting the cold compress on your forehead. “We’ll be here when you wake up.”
A tiny whimper leaves your lips as you lift your hand slowly, wrapping it weakly around his arm.
“... promise?” you manage to squeak out, wincing at how much it hurts to speak.
“Promise,” he whispers back, transferring the cold compress to his other hand and resting the one you’d grabbed onto closer to you.
With a weak smile you pull his arm closer to your body and let fevered sleep take you once more.
You wake next time to three voices this time. One snickering, a grumbling one, and a bemused one. From their volume, you discern that Philza was still at the counter, Techno was sitting next to you, and this third voice was at the door. The cold compress was gone from your forehead, as well as the pounding headache.
As you move your fingers you find that Techno’s arm is still in your grip, soft and warm. With a little strength left over, you shift closer and pull his arm towards you. There’s a startled ‘Woah!’ from the man as something heavy comes to rest against you.
“Could’ve just asked,” he grumbles, righting himself again.
“Soft…” you murmur, nuzzling your face into the arm as sleep already starts to override your consciousness.
“Looks like you’re trapped there, Techno,” the unfamiliar voice points out, laughing as he does so.
“Shove it, Ranboo,” Techno grumbles back.
“Oh, if they’re awake have them drink this,” Philza instructs. Techno shifts next to you, indicating that he was passed something.
A hand scoops under your head, pulling you up from the bed and drawing a protesting whimper from your lips. Warm glass is pressed to your lips as he instructs you to drink. You don’t even have the strength to open your eyes, let alone protest, so you drink down whatever he’s given you. It tastes of warmth and fruit, something perhaps golden, you’re not entirely sure.
“That was fast,” Techno chuckles as he takes the glass from you and passes it back to Philza, gently setting you down again.
“Tired…” you mumble, settling back down on the bed and curling in on yourself. You wince as you accidentally pull at stitches, indicating the bandages across your body.
“Get some rest, we ain’t gonna go nowhere,” Techno promises.
You feel something heavy weigh down across your shoulders. Something incredibly soft brushes against your face, carefully being tucked around you. You curl up happily. It smells of warmth and safety, as well as a bit of smoke and seawater. Something well loved.
As you drift off to sleep again, you catch the start of a conversation between the three in the room:
“Techno, you sure? You know you’re not getting that back soon.”
“Eh, I ain’t going anywhere.”
“The great blade, giving up his cape for someone he found in the snow. Wait until Nihachu hears about this.”
The next time you wake up, you feel a bit stronger. Your eyes are not nearly as heavy as they were before, and your head is definitely not pounding anymore. The first thing you notice is the lack of voices in the room. The only noise is the slow scraping and squeaks of polishing something.
For the first time since you regained consciousness here, you slowly opened your eyes to see where you were.
It’s dimly lit, torchlight glowing softly against the room. There’s an odd green block with a bell above it, as well as several chests stacked in odd manners. There’s a brewing stand in the corner, as well as a counter. It looks to have been cleaned up hastily, bits of fabric sticking out of a few of the chests. Yet, your attention is far from the room.
Instead, it's focused on two things. The large fluffy collar of a cape wrapped around your frame under a dozen different blankets. And, the figure sitting against the bed. He has long pink hair tied back from his face in a bun. Two fluffy pink ears on either side, sitting faced away from you as he sharpens some sort of metal pickaxe. He’s dressed in a loose red button-up shirt and grey pants as he leans against the bed you’re in.
You watch him, strong arms moving back and forth as he sharpens the blade of the pickaxe. Next to him sits an axe, sharpened to the point to slice paper if he so chose. He’s methodical, carefully working the blade back and forth.
Apparently, he’s more sensitive to noise than you had thought, as the moment you shift under the blankets, his head’s turned around to check on you. Piercing yellow eyes set in black stare back at you, lips curled around two large tusks.
“How long ya’ been awake for?” he grunts, setting down the pickaxe on the floor.
“Couple minutes…” it still hurts to sleep, but not as much now. A shiver runs through your body at the biting cold around you.
“Hold on,” he grunts, standing up and grabbing a red potion from the nearby counter. He presses it to your lips, helping you sit up to drink it. “Bottoms up.”
You part your lips, drinking it down. It tastes the same as the one you’d been given the last time you were conscious. Sweet, yet savoury. When the bottles are finished, he sets it on the counter, checking your forehead with his hand. The soft fur brushes against your skin, causing you to lean towards it. He radiates heat, forcing the cold away from your body with only the touch of his hand.
“You’re not running a fever, so that’s good… but you’re really cold,” he mumbles to himself. “I should get Philza… But he said to let you sleep through it… “
He starts to get up, but a weak hand grabbing his wrist and pulling him down stops him.
“Warm…” you mumble, gripping his wrist weakly.
He looks to the door, grumbling something to himself as he sets down the rag he’d been polishing the pickaxe with.
“Alright, but we speak of this to no one,” he grumbles, letting his hair down before pulling back the covers and ducking under with you.
He’s warm, incredibly so. The mere addition of his body under the blankets causes you to croon in delight and cuddle as close as possible to him. A short chuckle escaped his lips as he wraps an arm around your back, pulling you closer to his chest.
“Like a giant puppy,” he muses, wrapping the blankets closer around you as you cuddle up to his chest.
You curl your head into the crook of his neck, a soft smile on your lips as you do so.
“Warm… thank you… Techno…”
“Yeah, don’t mention it,” he whispers back, allowing you to fall back asleep curled up to his side.