Chapter Text
The words became harder to concentrate on with every second that passed. Larrikin had never been all that good at concentrating on one thing for a long time in the first place, so by the time he started over the same sentence for the thirtieth time, he decided to finally call it quits. Every memory of what had been happening in the story disappeared from his mind as soon as the book was out of his sight, leaving only the gnawing worry that had caused him to pick up one of Anton’s weird poetry books in the first place.
The Midnight Hotel had appeared right near the edge of some French fishing town. The nearest grocery store shouldn’t have been more than a 20-minute walk away, and usually it only took Anton about half an hour to get everything they needed and head home, he was efficient like that.
By that logic he should have been home forty minutes prior. Anything could’ve happened in that time. Hell, anything could have happened on the way to the store for all Larrikin knew.
He could've gotten injured or they could already be dead. The thought would not leave Larrikin, no matter how much he tried to distract himself.
After another agonizing minute or so he gave in, rushing to grab his coat. The memories of every single time he'd failed a loved one started replaying in his head, fading in and out, fusing together until they no longer resembled any single event, just the customary feeling of utter despair. Anton wouldn’t be one of those unlucky few that never came back, he simply couldn't be. Larrikin would sooner die than allow that to happen.
The door clicked, stopping Larrikin in the middle of attaching his scabbards to his belt. He held his breath as it swung open, his hand curled around the hilt of one of his daggers.
Anton stumbled in, scratched up and soaking wet but alive. He carried the groceries with one beaten hand, cradling his bundled up jacket to their chest with the other. His unarmored shirt was torn in a few places and stained red in others.
“What happened to you?” Larrikin exclaimed, throwing his own jacket in the general direction of the clothes rack before rushing to help Anton, who passed the wriggling bundle to him.
Two unblinking yellow eyes stared up at him from within the jacket.
“A cat?” He asked when his brain finally registered what he was looking at.
"Several," Anton responded, "they're ill- I couldn't just leave them out there."
"Of course not!" Larrikin assured him, "I'll see what I can do."
The fabric unfurled when he placed it on the living room floor, and he found that Anton had, in fact, brought several cats with him. The biggest of them was a wounded white cat with black and orange spots and bloodstained paws. Larrikin wasn't quite sure how much of the blood was the cat's and how much was Anton's. Three little lumps of fur were huddled up by the bigger cat’s side– Larrikin would’ve thought them dead if it weren’t for the ever so slight rising and falling of their tiny chests.
He reached his hand towards one of the kittens but froze mid motion, leaving his hand hovering over it. When was the last time he’d healed something this small? There was that dog a few years ago, but that was just a scratch, nothing major. The cats were in much worse condition, if he went about it too fast they could go into shock. Even many of the strongest sorcerers he knew had been close to cardiac arrest because of the shock of their bodies coming back from the edge of death in the space of a few minutes, compared to them the cats would stand no chance.
“Is everything alright?”
The sound of Anton’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts. He shook his head. “What if I end up hurting them?”
Anton walked over and sat down next to him, wrapping one rain soaked arm around Larrikin’s shoulders. “It’s going to be okay,” he whispered, “just breathe and take it slow. You’re not going to hurt them, I promise.”
Larrikin closed his eyes, focusing on getting his breathing to match the steady rising and falling of Anton’s side against his. When he was finally satisfied with it, he opened his eyes and placed his hand gently on the smallest of the kittens. He took one last deep breath and let the tingling energy flow out of his hand. Opalescent flames spread out from his fingertips, licking the cat’s pale gray fur. As the glow passed over it, the kitten began wiggling about and mewing loudly.
A smile spread across Larrikin’s face as the kitten curled up next to its mother’s belly. The two bigger kittens were just as co-operative, which left only the mother, who was eyeing him with suspicion. She drew her ears back and let out a low growl when he placed his hand on her wounded side.
“Ma’am,” Anton requested, “please don’t bite my husband.”
She did as asked, although Larrikin suspected it was more due to her being tired and injured than out of any respect for Anton’s wishes. Judging from the state of his face and hands, they had been the receiving end of all the violence the cat could spare.
Her fur stood on end as the light spread from Larrikin’s hand, making all her wounds glow softly before fading out, leaving only dried blood to signify that they’d been there in the first place.
The cat stared at him, eyes wide, and for a moment Larrikin thought she was going to strike him now that her strength had returned. Instead she blinked slowly and wrapped her tail around her kittens.
“That means she likes you,” Anton said, squeezing his shoulders tighter.
"Do you blame her?" Larrikin asked, grinning up at him.
"Can't say I do," he responded, a soft smile spreading across his scratched-up face. Many of the wounds were worryingly close to his eyes, small streaks of dried blood running from them and down his cheeks.
"She really did a number on you, huh?"
"I did ask her to refrain from doing that," Anton chuckled, "but if I was in her situation, I probably would have- what’s so funny?”
“Oh, nothing, I’m just imagining you standing in some muddy ditch using your customer service voice on a stray cat,” Larrikin laughed, before taking Anton's hand in his. The scratches on their hand were even deeper and more numerous than the ones carved into his face, some of them were already sporting the tell-tale redness of a particularly nasty infection.
"You don't have to if you don't feel like it," Anton assured him, "I can just go get some disinfectant-"
"I know you can, dear," Larrikin interrupted gently, "but it'll be easier this way. Besides, I've got enough adrenaline in my body to sustain a small city. I need to tire myself somehow, otherwise I won't be sleeping at all tonight."
Anton didn’t say anything more to that, just nodded and relaxed a little. Back when Larrikin first met him they would’ve kept insisting that he was fine and didn’t need any help from anyone– like the cat. He'd had several close brushes with death thanks to his insistence that he could always do everything himself. Maybe it was more so that he'd convinced himself that he had to do everything himself, Larrikin wasn't sure, he was just glad that they'd learned to allow themself to be helped over the years.
The familiar tingling spread out across his palm and one after another, Anton’s wounds lit up, reminiscent of very amateurish sigils. He shut his eyes for a moment as the glow around them intensified, before fading out of existence along with the scratches.
Instead of placing Anton’s hand back down right away, Larrikin brought it to his lips and kissed his knuckles, still covered in blood that was rapidly drying now that its source was gone.
A smile curled onto Anton's lips –the kind that showed his teeth, crinkled the corners of his eyes and made Larrikin's heart flutter– and they moved their hand from Larrikin's shoulder to cradle his cheek. Larrikin leaned into his palm and placed his own hand on top of Anton's.
"I was just about to come look for you," he mumbled into Anton's hand, "you had me really worried there for a second." The cold pit at the bottom of his stomach hadn't completely disappeared yet, even though he now knew there had been no reason to worry.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you."
"No, no- You don't need to apologize, I worded that wrong, I just-" Larrikin tried desperately to find the right words. "Thank you for always coming back. I like it when you're alive."
"I sure hope so," Anton laughed, leaning his forehead against Larrikin's.
They stayed like that for a while, Larrikin would've gladly stayed for longer, content to just feel Anton's steady breathing against his skin, if it wasn't for the sudden realization that he was covered in dry blood and his clothes were still soaked from the rain.
"Why don't you go wash up, and I'll make us and the cats something to eat."
"Alright, There's raw fish in the fridge."
"For us or them?"
"You decide." Anton replied, before quickly pecking his cheek and standing up.
Larrikin placed the plate of raw fish in the box he'd prepared for the cats, lined with pillows and a few blankets. He didn't really have much knowledge on cats– that was apparently Anton's thing– but he reckoned that everyone liked having a soft place to rest.
"Here kitty, are ya hungry?"
The mother cat opened her eyes, surveying him for a moment before yawning and stretching. One by one she carried her babies to the box in her jaws, curling up next to them afterwards to eat some fish. Her nose scrunched up as she ate, much like Anton's did when he laughed.
"I can't believe it, you come into our house, you steal our hearts and then our mannerisms? How is that fair?" He fussed over the cat, who did not respond nor defend her honour in any way, just purred and shut her eyes.
It was a funny thing, the longer he looked at the sleeping cats, the sleepier he himself became. Wasn't there something else he was still supposed to do?
Right, dinner.
His mind was too scattered to make anything too complicated, but pasta would probably be a safe enough option, there wasn't much that could go wrong with that. Still, he knocked thrice on the nearest wooden surface –just in case.