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The light under the ocean shimmers like lapis through the cracks of a block of deepslate. Like diluted squid ink, or the petals of a cornflower on a grassy hill. Case in point, it’s blue – really fucking blue. The shade is burned into the back of Oli’s skull; the very last thing he saw in his life. Or so he thought.
The glow brimming through his closed lids right now is as yellow as the centre of a fried egg, sunny side up. He jolts upright.
A blanket slides off his shoulders, revealing several strips of white bandage wrapped tightly around his torso from his belly button to his armpits. His Hawaiian shirt is nowhere to be seen. Neither is his undershirt. Gauze covers his forearms and hands, leaving only his fingers free to wriggle. Oli blinks, then gingerly lifts the edge of the blanket.
The shorts are still there. Phew!
His leg’s all bandaged up, too. Oli’s brows furrow.
The last thing he remembers are the goblin and his sheriff and their horrible abuse of power. Before that, a goddess and her horrible abuse of power; she chucked him off a cloud. Then there was the pirate, horribly abusing his trident’s storm-wielding abilities. Although that one can probably be excused, because what else was he supposed to do. Let him go? How un-pirate-y.
Oli obviously survived the ordeal. He’s currently alive and clearly damaged, which doesn’t happen when the universe intervenes. The question is… why didn’t it? He wasn’t trying to stay alive. In fact, he was very much trying to not be here any more. This place is terrible.
A shiver runs down his arms. The hairs on the back of his neck stir, like the wind picking up to trace along his spine with icy fingers. He draws a sharp breath.
Something’s changed.
His chest weighs a ton. Now that the universe thought it prudent to stick his nose right into it, the sensation is impossible to ignore. Someone tied a weight to the inside of his sternum that swings like the pendulum of a grandfather clock, counting down the seconds. To what, though?
Actually, not important. Oli needs to get out of here before the dude who found him on the shore turns out to be just as crazy as the goblin.
He slides to the edge of the bed. His ribcage and torso seem to be cool with the idea, so he pushes the blanket off him and swings his legs over the side.
The instant his wrapped foot touches the wooden planks, a spike of pain shoots up his leg, along his spine and right into his brain. Oli yelps. Then he slaps a hand over his mouth. Shit, hopefully no one heard that.
He shifts cautiously. The pain is duller this time. Manageable. He puts his hands to the mattress and forces himself into a standing position. On wobbly legs, he heads for the door.
Every step burns like a burst of wasabi in his nose. But he can walk. That’s all that counts.
He reaches the door and sinks heavily against the wall. To listen, of course, not because the pain has him panting so hard he needs a moment to recuperate.
Metal clanks in the distance. Wood scrapes over wood, in between what sounds like the clattering of plates. A kitchen, maybe? A goblin rave? Oli surreptitiously checks the walls, which he didn’t before, because there’s no way he’s climbing out a window in the state he’s in.
Not that it matters – there aren’t any. Right. That’s a problem. He straightens and runs a hand through his hair. As long as he has no idea who – or what – he is dealing with, he probably shouldn’t seem weak. It’s not something he’s traditionally good at, but he’s nothing if not ready to try new things. He reaches for the doorknob.
It drops out from under his hand. He blinks at it as the door swings open, revealing a pair of thick legs beneath a black leather apron.
Thick, furry legs. Belonging to an equally huge, furry body. Holy void, that chest. Those guns. The face is nice, too. Especially the ears, perked up like satellite dishes. Harengon, a part of Oli’s mind whispers.
The other, larger part is filled with white noise. Blood rushes in his ears. The drumming in his chest vibrates through his ribcage and that new weight there? That’s not a weight at all – it’s a string, spanning the distance between his little heart and this bull of a man’s broad torso.
Said man crosses his arms in front of his chest. It makes his biceps bulge. ‘What in the world do you think you’re doing? You shouldn’t be out of bed!’
Oli’s brain squeaks like a broken jukebox. ‘Uh?’
‘Look at you, you’re not even able to stand!’
‘R-right.’ Oli waves a hand behind him. ‘Should I just go–?’
His mouth dries up.
The harengon’s ears twitch. ‘Back to bed, if you wouldn’t mind.’
Oli nods like a bobble-head on the dash of a swerving car. His cheeks might be legitimately on fire. His mind spins like a twister, trying to find something smooth to say – or anything, really – but the purpose of his entire existence is sliding into place inside of his soul, like a sunflower turning its head towards the sky after living its entire life in the Deep Dark, and the words won’t come. He should probably be glad he didn’t immediately kiss the floor.
On shaking feet – and under the watchful eye of the harengon in the door – Oli scurries back to the bed and, ignoring the pain whispering up his leg, crawls onto the mattress.
The man’s face softens. It sets Oli’s heart aflutter. Following a sudden intuition, he tugs the blanket back into his lap.
The harengon’s lips twitch. ‘Thank you.’
He gives a thumbs-up and closes the door. His footsteps fade away on what must be wooden planks outside, down a long hallway, leaving Oli right where he started not ten minutes ago.
All breath rushes out of him. He slumps into his pillows, shivering from head to toe, sad and yet oddly relieved that the moment is over. His brain feels raw, like an exposed nerve. He hasn’t even caught a glimpse beyond the door and yet, the thought of leaving this place twirls away like dandelion fuzz on a stiff breeze.
It doesn’t matter how horrible this world and its denizens have been treating him. How much danger he might be in right now, or if the goblins are planning to roast him on a stick for Thanksgiving dinner. He’s definitely staying.