Chapter Text
The third time Finral drifted downstairs like a bleary-eyed, snuffling ghoul, Yami'd had enough. Charmy had made sure Finral was stocked up on water, tea, crackers, and whatever else was in that enormous 'Get Well Soon!' care package that she'd taken up to his room yesterday, so he wasn't getting provisions. Finral wasn't talking to anyone or taking a seat to the side to watch the usual chaos. He wasn't even flopping onto the couch and complaining, which was what he'd been doing yesterday when he'd had more energy.
He would just shuffle in, blink at everyone for a bit, and then stumble back upstairs, looking more and more exhausted every time. Yami didn't know what Finral was doing, but it wasn't making him better, so he was going to knock it off.
“Oi. Get your ass back to bed. If you need something, tell Henry.”
Finral looked over at Yami. Instead of booking it back upstairs, though, he glanced around the common room. His eyes passed over Vanessa napping on the couch, Grey blowing clouds of steam in the corner, and Gordon doing something involving candles, dirty socks, and trying to feed a noxious-smelling concoction to a red-clad doll that looked suspiciously like Finral.
Yami was pretty sure Gordon was making his own attempt to cure Finral's cold, but who knew.
Even Gordon's weird ritual didn't seem to catch Finral's attention, though. He almost seemed to be looking for something. Yami frowned.
“What are you down here for, anyway?”
Finral looked back at Yami. His eyes cleared a little, and he gave a sheepish shrug. “Just bored. Wanted to check if anyone wanted a ride. Better than them having to go all the way up to my room, right?”
Yami stared at him, incredulous. “You're sick, dumbass, and we've all got brooms.”
Finral's hands fluttered, a lackluster echo of his usual penchant for flamboyant gesturing. “You don't like flying.”
“I can suck it up. Go back to bed.”
Finral's mouth started to pull to the side like it did when he was about to dig in his heels. Then he flinched and had to muffle a loud sneeze in his elbow. As he came up for air, Vanessa stirred on the couch, muttering a groggy, “Go away, kitten.”
Finral blinked at her in confusion. Yami snorted. Witches had some of the weirdest turns of phrase, but he was stealing that one. Looking back at Finral, he smirked and echoed, “Shoo, kitty.”
That got him a properly indignant (if still bleary) look before Finral finally sulked back up the stairs.
*
The garlic was overpowering the delicate aroma of the miso.
As he made his way up to Finral's room, Yami decided that was fine. Not like Finral was going to be able to smell much of either. Yami had added garlic because it was good for clearing stuffed noses, not because the combination was the height of culinary sophistication. Same reason for the onion on the tray next to the bowl.
Finral hadn't come down for dinner. Not that it had been a shocker after exhausting himself all afternoon. He'd looked pretty peaky at lunch to begin with, and only managed half a bowl of Charmy's chicken soup before retreating back to his room. Yami could have had her take up a serving of stew after dinner, but... nah. She'd been plying Finral with Clover get-well recipes for two days and he was still miserable. Time to try something else. Balancing the tray on one hand, Yami rapped on Finral's door.
There was a groan, and then a cranky, “What?”
Some of Yami's concern eased. If Finral was well enough to be irritated, he wasn't dying. A slight smirk tugging at his lips, Yami called back, “If you don't want dinner, I can always have seconds.”
There was a series of grumbles, then a 'pflop' like a pillow being readjusted. “Argh. Come in.”
Yami opened the door. Finral was sitting up in his bed, propped up by pillows. He was red-nosed, eyes even droopier than usual. His hair was mussed and wild, curls sticking out at odd angles. Even his nightshirt looked wilted. A book Yami vaguely recognized as one of Finral's math texts was pushed to the side.
As Yami closed the door behind himself, Finral frowned at the tray. “What's the onion for?”
“Your nose is blocked, right? Cut off a piece and smell it.”
Rather than be grateful for the piece of folk wisdom, Finral looked skeptical. “I don't think my nose needs more irritation.”
Even sick as a dog, Finral was still fussy as a cat. At least it was reassuring. Yami shrugged. “Suit yourself, but it works.”
Judging by the empty vial on the nightstand, Finral had already taken his evening dose of Owen's tonic. Personally, Yami had more faith in the onion. Owen was a master recovery mage, but magic was better at dealing with injuries than illness.
Yami set down the tray on the nightstand, nudging aside a bedside calendar. Finral glanced at the date and sighed.
“Guess the monthly report is going to be late.” Finral picked up the spoon and gave the soup a perfunctory stir.
Oh, right. That was due in a couple days. Great. Yami hated paperwork, but there was no help for it. “I did it before you joined up, I can do it again.”
Finral frowned, slowly looking up from the soup. “Back then you were only accounting for your own paycheck and missions.” He started ticking things off on the fingers of his free hand. “There's a dozen members now. I updated the supply chains and filed for subsidized expenses. There's the extra filing for Gauche's parole, the rent payment to Henry, Vanessa's citizenship status-”
Familiar with the telltale signs of Finral working himself into a anxious mess, Yami cut him off. “Not your problem.”
Finral hesitated, fingers fidgeting on the spoon as if he was imagining holding a pen. He still looked upset, though Yami wasn't sure why. Finral did the paperwork because he was better at it and too much of a miser to let Yami leave money on the table, not because it was fun. Finral complained about it as much as he complained about everything.
Squinting down at Finral like it would help him see past the unkempt curls and into Finral's brain, Yami ordered, “Quit worrying and eat. I'll handle it.”
Finral still looked reluctant. His gaze dropped back to the soup, but he didn't make a move to eat. After a heartbeat, Yami tried a different track. “You keep it up to date anyway. I'll only have a week's worth of shit to go through.”
That finally seemed to get through. Finral's shoulders slumped, and he finally took a sip of the soup. Yami kept staring, trying to figure out what his problem was. Sure, Yami couldn't have made Finral's current system, but he could read notes and follow a template. It'd be less neat than Marx was used to, but it'd get done.
Finral poked a piece of garlic with the spoon. “Guess I'm freeloading for the week.” His tone sounded like he'd been aiming for humor and missed by a mile.
That made the pieces click. Yami scowled, even more irritated, but not with Finral. That was what this was about? At least it was an easy fix.
Crossing his arms, Yami declared, “Yeah, you are.”
Finral's head jerked up, startled by the blunt statement. He stared at Yami with wide eyes.
“You're sick. It happens. Think I only give a shit about you when you're making my life easier? I wouldn't have recruited any of our idiots if that were true, they're a bunch of quiet weirdos and loud assholes.”
Finral's expression wavered before turning skeptical. Someplace between melancholy and defensive, Finral muttered, “You're one to talk. Last time I asked, you said you recruited me to take you places.”
Yami's eyes narrowed. And people called him thick-headed. “It can be both. I don't give people jobs they can't do, and I don't make soup for people I don't like.”
Finral's mouth dropped open slightly in surprise. It pissed Yami off more, though his expression didn't flicker. He shouldn't be so shocked that he's worth more than a shortcut. Finral got control of himself quickly, mouth snapping shut and eyes averting. There was still a new pink to his ears that the illness didn't explain. He ate another spoonful of soup and swallowed hard before speaking again.
“You also brought me a raw onion and told me to sniff it.” His voice was a little unsteady. Yami didn't comment on it. He'd made his point, so he let Finral take them back to more familiar footing.
He drawled back, “If you want a clogged nose, feel free to ignore my generosity.”
Finral gave him a look that was properly exasperated instead of brittle. Good. “I'm grateful for the miso,” he said pointedly. He punctuated the statement with another spoonful. It looked like it was going down easier than the chunky chicken soup, so Yami counted it as a win for Sunlander home remedies.
Yami shrugged, uncrossing his arms and turning toward the door. “Do what you want. Eat up and get some sleep.”
As he left, he heard Finral mutter peevishly, “Who follows up 'do what you want' with orders?!”
Yami chuckled quietly as he headed up to the study.
Finral sounded better already.