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The library is quietest at night. No prying eyes. No useless chatter. Only the faint glow of the candle illuminating the pages of her book with a warm glow. Lysithea squints. The words start to blur. A dull pain pings the back of her skull.
A migraine. A fucking migraine.
Lysithea rubs her temples to ease the pain. The pain only worsens, and with it, her focus waivers. The throbbing pain becomes unbearable; Lysithea can hardly think. With a groan, she gives in to her body's cry for help. She stands up, closing her book, and tucks it under her arm.
She strides to the bookshelf where she originally retrieved the book. Craning her neck, she finds the empty spot where the book resides. Funnily, the bookshelf seems taller than Lysithea remembers. She shakes the thought away; it's not like she's getting shorter. She is average height. She can reach the bookshelf.
On the tips of her toes, she stretches her arm to reach the spot. The edge of the book hardly touches the shelf. She uses the last of her strength to push the binding with the tips of her fingers.
Except, oddly enough, the book does not go into its place. Instead, gravity takes hold, and the book falls down. All Lysithea can do is stare and watch the book fall in slow motion until it finally meets her forehead with a loud smack.
The world goes black. Her body hits the floor with a dull thud. Lysithea stares forward, eyes open. Slowly, the world comes back into focus. She sits up and rubs her head. Already, a bump has started to form. It hurts to the touch.
"That was most unfortunate," Lysithea mumbles to herself. She retracts her hand, only now noticing the blood on her fingers. "Shit."
Seeing Manuela makes the most sense in this situation. However, Manuela is most certainly asleep at this late hour. Getting her help would mean waking her up and dealing with the neverending scolding of a hungover teacher. Bleeding to death would be less painful of an option. Lysithea considers her options for a moment.
Then, she comes to a realization. Stumbling, she stands up.
----
Lysithea knocks on the door with the last of her strength. To her relief, it opens to reveal Flayn who blearily stares back at her.
"What are you-" She stops rubbing the sleep from her eyes the instant she notices the wound on Lysithea's head. "Oh, goddess! You have been wounded!" She grabs the other girl by the hand and hurriedly pulls her inside. Her grip is stronger than Lysithea expects; she has no choice but to follow along.
Before she can protest, Lysithea finds herself lying on what she assumes to be Flayn's bed. Flayn frets over her like a mother hen, forehead creased with worry. Her hand remains on Lysithea's; it's a comforting gesture. Though, Lysithea has too much blood loss to think too deeply on the matter.
So she lies, letting Flayn do as she pleases with her body.
"Who did this to you?" Flayn asks worriedly. She squeezes her hand, seemingly more to comfort herself than the person lying bleeding on the bed.
"I did," Lysithea answers.
"You-" Flayn purses her lips. "Is there something you want to talk about?"
"Not with you," is Lysithea's initial thought.
"There is nothing to talk about," is what she says aloud. "A book fell on my head. I came to receive medical attention from a capable healer, as is appropriate if I am injured."
"I see." Flayn nods. She brings her hand up to Lysithea's forehead. Gently, she brushes back her bangs. A faint glow emits from her fingertips. The searing pain dulls to a gentle throb. With it, Lysthea’s migraine diminishes.
She sits up, feeling renewed. "Thank you for your assistance. Now, I must be go-"
Flayn pushes her back down. "I am not finished with you. You need more attention than just simple magic."
"Oh."
After gathering a small bowl of water from her bedside table, she dabs a wet cloth over Lysithea's forehead. The cold water jolts the girl awake; she grits her teeth. Yet, as Flayn rubs small circles over the injury, Lysithea cannot help but find it comforting. She stares up at the ceiling, slowly relaxing while Flayn tends to her.
"Flayn?" she asks after a while.
"Yes?"
"Can you cure something else for me?"
"What do you mean?"
"I'm exhausted. My whole body aches. Can magic cure that?"
"A good night's sleep will do that better."
"Its effectiveness is not my concern here," Lysithea tuts. "Rather, I would like for such a cure to work as a substitute to rest if necessary."
Flayn furrows her brow. "I do not think it is wise to consider this course of action."
"Answer my question, please."
She falls silent as she mulls over Lysithea’s request. Lysithea is on the verge of getting up and making her way into the staff supply of coffee when Flayn finally relents.
"I fail to see why not,” she says. “White magic has been used for both healing injuries and improving stamina during wartime. We may not be on the battlefield, but the same logic could be applied to the exhaustion caused from lack of energy." She gives the other girl a pointed look. "Or lack of sleep."
"I see," Lysithea hums.
"What are you thinking?"
"Try it on me."
"Are you sure? It's late. If you feel fatigued, you can just rest."
"I have studying to do, and no time to do it. If you don't heal my exhaustion, you'll find me back here in an hour after I collapse again. I think you can make the logical decision here."
"Fine," Flayn says. "I shall do it, but just this once."
"Thank you."
Flayn places her hand on Lysithea's chest. Lysithea sucks in a sharp breath, reminding herself that this is purely part of the procedure. Flayn's fingers glow once more, and Lysithea can feel the magic pulsing in her. The soreness from exhaustion is washed from her body, and in its place she finds a rich and invigorating energy.
"There. It is finished," Flayn says with a sigh. She removes her hand, but the feeling still lingers. "Please, Lysithea, I beg that you do not make a habit of such drastic measures. The few extra hours are not worth your health."
Lysithea slides off the bed. Her newfound energy practically sparkles in her veins like motes of fairy dust. She has never felt so good.
"I promise; I won't." She scuttles to the door, but stops just before crossing over the threshold. She glances back. "Thank you, Flayn,” she says. To her surprise, she’s smiling faintly. “I really appreciate this."
"You are most welcome, Lysithea."
She slips out into the corridor, sneaking down the silent halls, and back into the library. Feeling like a new woman, she reunites with her beloved book, forgiving it for its past crime. Flipping the page, she buries her nose in the fine parchment and settles in for a long night.
----
"Why are you back?" Flayn asks, crossing her arms over her chest, her eyes narrowed Lysithea’s way. “It has not even been a week since you last visited me in this manner!”
The disappointment burns Lysithea, but she is too tired to feel guilt. Still, she averts her gaze from Flayn’s cold eyes. "I need more magic."
"You need more sleep."
"I can sleep when I'm dead."
“You shall be dead sooner than you wish if you keep avoiding sleep.”
"I'll be dead sooner than I wish, whether I like it or not,” she wants to say. “I might as well keep working."
But instead she sighs deeply, and looks at Flayn with a flat affect. “Well, are you going to help me or not?”
Flayn lets out a tense breath. She doesn’t look happy with Lysithea, which is mildly unsettling. She’s never seen Flayn upset before, except with her brother. But even so, she says, “Yes, I will help you. Lie down, please.”
Lysithea does just that. The pillows are plush against her back; her body cries with relief at the thought of a brief moment’s rest. It almost makes her want to close her eyes and fall asleep. She shakes that silly thought away; there is no time for such frivolities. There will never be time for such frivolities. That is exactly why she is in Flayn’s bedroom in the first place.
No other reason. Not that she needed to remind herself of that. She glances away from Flayn, instead settling to stare blankly at the ceiling.
The bed dips as Flayn sits beside her. She holds her hands over Lysithea’s chest as she did once before. Lysithea sucks in her breath, ignoring the tingling feeling spreading over her body. With the odd sensation comes a sense of relief. Her exhaustion fades, and Lysithea feels her pulse quicken. That new energy fills her.
“Thank you,” she says once Flayn finishes.
She quickly sits up, intending to get right back to her studies, but she is caught off guard by how close actually she is to the other girl. They are so close that their noses nearly touch.
She stares widely into Flayn’s eyes as she stares widely back at her, and for the first time, she realizes just how strikingly green her eyes actually are. They’re a bright peridot, which are somehow the same rich color as the shining curls of her hair.
Briefly, she wonders if anyone else has been so physically close to Flayn before. She is so closely guarded by Seteth that Lysithea struggles to think of a time in which Flayn has spent time one-on-one with another person. She has heard enough from Hilda to know that older brothers act oddly when it comes to their sisters, but Seteth takes that protectiveness to new heights.
Why is he so protective? What secrets do they hold so closely to their chest that they can’t risk getting close to anyone else?
With these questions, however, comes the reminder that she has secrets of her own—secrets that she can’t risk anyone learning the truth of.
She looks away, breaking contact with those beautiful eyes.
"I must be going." She abruptly stands up and rushes toward the door like someone is chasing her.
"Oh." Flayn almost sounds disappointed. "Of course. Goodbye, then."
----
The sun shines bright in the sky, a spectacle Lysithea has not enjoyed in some time. She faces up, eyes squinting at the vivid blue. A few clouds float by. She notices the silhouette of an eagle gliding by the treeline. Grass tickles her legs. A light breeze passes by and rustles her hair.
“As much as I am enjoying myself,” someone says, interrupting her thoughts. Lysithea looks over to see Flayn sitting next to her, saying, “I remain curious as to why you have brought me out here so suddenly.”
“Is it not obvious?” Lysithea replies, genuinely confused.
“Not quite,” Flayn says. “You came knocking upon my door this morning telling me I must come with you, and now we are on top of a hill sitting in the grass. Neither of us have said a word this entire time.” She pauses, like she’s considering whether or not to say more, and then speaks so quickly that she almost stumbles over her words: “I don’t mean to be rude! I only wish to know why you brought me here so urgently.”
“Oh." Lysithea gnaws on her lower lip. She was not prepared for this question. For any question, really, but this one specifically. Finally, she decides that honesty may actually serve her best in this situation.
"I wanted to spend some time with you outside of, uh, your bedroom," she says. Beside her, Flayn snorts with laughter. Lowering her voice, Lysithea mutters, "Goddess, that sounds so weird out of context."
"It certainly carries unsavory connotations."
"That aren't true," she adds for clarification.
"That are far from true!" Flayn confirms with vigor. "I agree with this sentiment. Please continue."
Lysithea does just that. "I just wanted to thank you for all your help. You've aided me with my ailments, which have improved my studies. I've made stellar progress thanks to you."
"I have already told you; you are welcome."
Lysithea holds back a groan of frustration. Finally, years of distancing herself from her peers have left her unable to properly communicate her true and genuine feelings. "What I'm saying is,” she tries, “I don't want you to think I'm taking advantage of your kindness. I see you as a—" she pauses briefly, "—a friend.” It feels wrong on her lips. “And I would help you with anything you need in the future. I’m in your debt."
“Please, Lysithea, it was nothing. You don’t owe me anything in return.” Flayn waves her hand dismissively.
“But what if I want to do something in return?”
Finally, Flayn considers the offer. “Fine,” she says. Relief washes over Lysithea. She doesn’t like feeling indebted to people. “If you wish to return the favor, then take a day off.”
That relief immediately dissipates.
“What?”
“Spend a day resting and doing the things that bring you the most happiness.”
“Fine, then. The things that bring me the most happiness are studying and staying up late.”
“There must be other things that you find pleasure in.”
Lysithea shakes her head. “My life has no other meaning.”
Furrowing her brow, Flayn frowns sharply. “I find this most worrisome, Lysithea.”
“You shouldn’t.”
There is a brief moment of silence before Flayn continues. “Regardless, you may pay me back by spending a day with me like this. We can relax. We can watch the clouds go by.” She claps her hands together in excitement. “Perhaps we can even play an invigorating game of chess, if that proves to be too mindless!”
“So…” Lysithea tests her understanding of the deal laid out before her, “if I spend the day with you, you’ll stop nagging me about sleeping more?”
“I said nothing of the sort,” Flayn huffs. “But… yes. Spend the day with me, and I shall continue to heal you regardless of your poor decisions.”
“That’s good enough for me. What should we do first?”
“We already walked all this way. We might as well enjoy the scenery for a while.” Flayn lies back and folds her arms behind her head.
Lysithea does the same. She stares up at the sky blankly. “Now what?”
“We watch the clouds.”
“And?”
“And talk about what they look like.” Flayn points up towards one of the larger clouds. “That one looks like a horse.”
Lysithea squints, trying to make sense of the clouds. They look like water droplets condensed in the atmosphere. They’re clouds, not animals. However, Flayn is particularly excited at the idea of clouds looking like other objects. There’s a sparkle in her eye that Lysithea simply cannot deny.
So, with a sigh of resignation, she closes her eyes. She clears her mind of expectations and all scientific knowledge. It is easier said than done.
When she opens her eyes, however, she can understand why Flayn might refer to a certain cloud as horse-shaped. The mass has a protruding tail and what could be considered a head. Next to it, is an oddly triangular cloud.
“That one looks like a slice of cake garnished with a cherry,” she says in a solid attempt to compare it to something Flayn will agree with.
It seems to work.
“Perhaps that is what the horse will have for dessert,” Flayn adds playfully.
Lysithea laughs at the statement. “Horses shouldn’t be eating cake.”
“You’re right. Humans should be eating cake.” Flayn sits up. “And by humans, I mean us. We’re human, the both of us. Let’s get some cake.”
“That sounds like something someone who isn’t human would say,” Lysithea points out, and she means it to be a joke just like everything else they’ve been saying about the clouds, but a worrisome expression flickers on Flayns’ face. Just for a moment. It’s quickly replaced by Flayn’s usual happy-go-lucky smile, but it’s uncertain enough to make Lysithea regret trying to play along with her.
She nearly stumbles over her words as she tries to move the conversation along. “A-anyway, maybe there’s some cake left over in the cafeteria.” She stands up and dusts off the back of her dress, then holds a hand out for Flayn to take. “I’m sure we can get some if we ask nicely. Assuming Raphael hasn’t gotten hold of it, that is.”
Flayn eyes her for a second—almost warily, Lysithea thinks—but takes her hand and uses it to pull herself onto her feet.
“It would certainly be tragic if that were the case!” She giggles. The tiny bit of nervousness in her voice makes Lysithea worry that maybe she’s somehow hit on something close to home for Flayn.
Why would a silly, off-handed comment about not being human hit something close to home for Flayn?
She decides against saying anything; she just lets Flayn drag her off to the cafeteria, giggling and giddy about cake. Today is supposed to be a day full of the things that makes her happy, and seeing Flayn happy about sharing cake with her makes her happier than she can imagine.
She tries to not think too hard about what that means.
----
At some point after their day out, Flayn decides that cake is the appropriate method of payment for Lysithea’s late-night rescues. And not just cake, no. Lysithea can’t just simply drop off a slice or two as thanks; it has to be cake with Lysithea.
Initially, it’s frustrating. Lysithea abhors the thought of being caught by a classmate with a cakebox under her arm; the fools who don’t understand that she’s not a child immediately assume that she’s being cute and girlish. She has better things to do with her time than explain that it’s actually a payment for services rendered.
But when she’s sequestered away with Flayn—whether in a secluded corner of the cathedral, out in the grounds, or even in their rooms—none of that seems to matter. It doesn’t matter that everyone insists that she’s just a helpless little child or that she’s getting into magical research too dark for a young lady such as herself, not when she’s with Flayn. With Flayn, she’s just…
She doesn’t know what she is with Flayn. All she knows is that she feels warm and oddly prone to smiles once the glow of magic fades from Flayn’s fingertips. It’s probably a result of the exhaustion being lifted from her bones. But whatever the cause is, being seen darting through Garreg Mach with cake is a small price to pay for that full-bodied delight.
She feels even better when Flayn’s fork cuts through the sponge for the first time. Because once she takes that first bite, her expression lights up like the sun itself. In addition, Lysithea can count on one hand the number of times Flayn hasn’t made some cute little sound of delight while eating cake.
It’s adorable.
“This may sound odd,” Flayn says one day while they share their snack. Lysithea looks up from scraping up every last bit of whipped cream from her plate. “But it has been strangely relieving to eat sweets outside of the public view. I always feel so awkward when people witness me partaking in such delicacies.”
Lysithea points at her with the tines of her fork. “I know exactly what you mean!” she says. “I always feel like they’re judging me for doing something so obviously childish. Because only children partake in cake, right?”
“And yet they do not look at Hilda or Raphael in such a condescending manner when they eat cookies or cakes or creams!” Flayn takes another bite of her cake as if to make a point. “It is our curse, Lysithea. We have been cursed to forever appear far younger than we actually are.”
“Do you know what the cashier at the bakery said to me once? She said it was nice that such young girls were being allowed to take on errands. I’m sixteen, Flayn. It’s perfectly normal for sixteen-year-olds to go shopping by themselves!” She leaves out the fact that most girls her age travel in packs.
“How utterly infuriating! You certainly do not act like a child!” Flayn’s expression falls. “I envy you in that regard. Sadly, if I were to act any differently than I do, my brother would surely descend upon me with fear that I have fallen ill.” She sighs heavily and sets her cake down in her lap. “He forever treats me as a child. As long as I remain under his care, I fear that I shall never have the opportunity to grow older.”
“But you will grow up,” Lysithea points out. “It’s inevitable.”
Flayn looks up at her. Some indescribable emotion swirls in her eyes as she smiles limply at Lysithea. “Is it?”
That simple question floors Lysithea. How could she have been so stupid, so short-sighted? She herself operated so desperately under the assumption that she only had a few years left to live—that she herself did not fall under that inevitably.
Her stomach churns in warning; she sets her cake aside. She meets Flayn’s somber gaze.
“You’re right,” she admits, and there’s a note of dismay in her voice that she hates. “It’s not.”
Flayn tilts her head with curiosity, her mouth opening with a question Lysithea is too scared to hear. Lysithea cuts her off.
“Some time ago, you said I needed to sleep more. That I’d die if I didn’t get some sleep. Well, it doesn’t matter, because I’m dying anyway.”
“What?”
“I have approximately five years left to live.” She speaks quickly, bluntly. Like the instant she stops, she will never be able to talk to Flayn again. She looks away to make her words flow easier. “Since coming to Garreg Mach, I’ve spent all of my time trying to find something I can do about it. That’s why I came to you for help. I only have so much time left. I can’t spend it sleeping.”
It’s odd. This isn’t the first time she’s told someone about her shortened life expectancy. This is, however, the first time she’s felt like something important hinges upon the conversation’s outcome.
She half expects Flayn to berate her for not having told her earlier. But instead, when she looks back at Flayn, there are tears in her eyes.
“I cannot imagine what that must feel like,” Flayn says in a faint voice, setting her snack aside so she can take Lysithea’s hands up in hers. “I am so, so sorry, Lysithea.”
A moment later, the now-familiar glow of her healing magic lights up the space between them.
Relief washes over Lysithea. Energy courses through her; her heart beats so loudly that the staccato echoes in her eyes.
At first she thinks it’s just because of Flayn’s magic. She’s experienced similar effects from that. But when she looks up at Flayn and notices the tears tracking down her cheeks, the way her ever-present smile wavers even as she tries to make Lysithea feel better, she realizes that it may not just be the magic.
Her heart beats even harder as Flayn lifts Lysithea’s hands up and kisses her fingers, bandaged and faintly scarred from years of papercuts and magical mishaps.
What Flayn says next is so quiet that Lysithea nearly misses it.
“It is so unfair. Goddess, if I could give some of my life to you, I would do so gladly.”
Lysithea wants to feel happy, but she doesn’t. She can’t agree with Flayn.
“Don’t say that. My life is my own responsibility.”
Flayn doesn’t seem to hear her.
“I have lived far too long for your life to be taken from you so abruptly.”
That doesn’t make sense. “Flayn, we’re the same age. Aren’t we?”
It dawns upon her that she doesn't know Flayn's age. She's only made assumptions based on how old she appears to be. The irony occurs to her a moment later.
Flayn’s expression, her wistful smile, speaks volumes.
“That would be what we have led people to believe, yes.”
We. So whatever this is goes beyond Flayn. For a moment, Lysithea considers the odd little moments Flayn has displayed during their time together, and she nearly brings them up, but she decides against it.
She already has a lot to deal with, and she’s sure that whatever Flayn is dealing with, she’ll share it with Lysithea on her own time.
“Don’t worry about me,” she ends up reiterating. “I’m working on a solution to my condition.”
“But I—”
“If wishes were fishes, no one would ever go hungry. Just keep doing what you’re doing.” She squeezes Flayn’s hands. “You are an invaluable resource, Flayn, and if I can keep coming to you for help, that’s more than enough.”
Flayn looks so sad. “I do not wish for you to die.”
“And I’m not going to.” Lysithea’s smile is an attempt to reassure her. “That’s why I’m working so hard.”
“Very well,” Flayn says. She inhales and exhales shakily, then smiles faintly back at Lysithea. “You shall have to continue bringing me sweets though; I insist. Otherwise, I shall have to refuse my continued services.”
Flayn’s promise is all Lysithea needs. She slumps forward and leans her forehead against Flayn’s shoulder. “I’ll bring all the cake you want, Flayn. As long as you keep sharing it with me.”
----
Even though Lysithea has objectively good news to share with Flayn, she’s been dragging her feet when it comes to actually seeing her again. It’s illogical. Now that the war with Nemesis is over, though, and Fódlan is at peace, she can’t put off going home any longer.
She can’t leave things with Flayn the way they are, though. It wouldn’t be fair to Flayn, not after several years of friendship, and especially not after a year of… whatever it is they’ve been doing.
Whenever she looks at Flayn, Flayn looks away. And when she shows up at Flayn’s room late at night for her magical fix, she feels like they’re in the middle of some sort of secret rendezvous. She never knows how to leave; she never wants to leave.
She always does.
During the day, however, it’s easier to find Flayn in the infirmary. When Lysithea musters the courage to seek her out, that’s where she goes.
Most of the Almyran forces have returned home, so the only person left in the infirmary is Flayn herself, much to Lysithea’s relief. She’s tidying up, putting away bundles of bandages and packets of poultices, restocking things for their inevitable use.
She’s objectively busy, but the instant Lysithea crosses the doorjamb, she looks over.
“It has been several years since you first began to come to me for aid,” Flayn says teasingly. She smiles at Lysithea over her shoulder. “It has been long enough that a war has both begun and come to its end, and the scheming of a ruined civilization has been brought to light. And yet, I still find you upon my doorstep.”
Lysithea is almost speechless. Almost. “I thought you liked having me here,” she says. “I paid you in cake.”
“You did indeed.” Flayn glances pointedly at Lysithea’s empty hands. “And yet you have none for me today.”
“Is it so bad that I just want to see you?”
As soon as Flayn puts away the jar of herbs in her hands, she turns to Lysithea. “I do not mind you seeking my presence, but I have to admit, I much prefer to see you healthy and happy as opposed to running yourself ragged in the search for a cure.”
“That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about,” Lysithea says with a smile so big her cheeks start to hurt. “Hanneman and I figured it out.”
“You—what?”
“We figured it out! We found a way to remove my Crests!”
Flayn gasps. “What fortuitous news!” Bouncing up and down on her toes, she extends her arms for a hug. “Does this mean your life is no longer at risk?”
“It does.”
What a conflicting thing. She has a brand-new lease on life, but now that she doesn’t have to research for her life, she no longer has a reason to visit Flayn. If this is the last time she’s going to see Flayn before returning to her family, she’s going to make the most of this chance.
Lysithea steps forward. But instead of giving Flayn the embrace she’s definitely expecting, she screws her eyes shut and kisses her.
Her kiss is clumsy and soft. Lysithea doesn’t know what she’s doing, and neither does Flayn. She runs out of air quickly, and they mutually break apart to take in large, gasping breaths.
Flayn clutches her stomach as she catches her breath, then she locks eyes with Lysithea. Her cheeks are bright, her eyes are full of stars. She looks undoubtedly happy, even as she asks, “What was that for?”
“I just thought—” The explanation Lysithea had held in her mind fails to translate to words. “If my problem is solved, I won’t need to come to you for help anymore. I don’t want to lose you.”
Despite being caught off guard, Flayn sputters with laughter. “Lysithea! Who knew you were so silly!”
Heat creeps up Lysithea’s neck and burns at her ears. “I’m nothing of the sort.”
“Yes, you are,” Flayn says. “You have no need of an excuse to see me. You do not need to be in need of my magic for you to come to my side.” The blush scattered across her face deepens. “You could simply say you wish to be with me, and that shall be that.”
“That’s it?”
“That is all you must do, yes.”
Flayn bites on her lower lip with surprisingly sharp teeth, her eyes searching Lysithea’s face like she’ll find the answer to some unspoken question.
It’s six simple words. Lysithea finds them to be the six easiest words she’s ever said—particularly now that she’s already kissed Flayn.
“I want to be with you,”
That’s exactly what Lysithea wants. She kisses Flayn again, and this time, Flayn kisses her back just as eagerly.
Her kiss is more healing than any magic, more invigorating than any coffee. Lysithea doesn’t know what the future will bring, now that her research has proven fruitful and her life is no longer in immediate danger, but she does know that she doesn’t have to make up reasons to see Flayn anymore.
That’s a start.