Chapter Text
How Shino almost stumbles face-first onto the carpeted floor when Arthur has only so much as tugged at his arm to urge him inside is enough of an indication that something is very, very wrong—the fact that he was already as drenched as a rat when he appeared by Arthur’s window on his broom during a midnight storm withstanding. It is only made worse by how Shino then simply crumbles into Arthur’s chest like his legs have given up on him altogether; even through a layer of clothing or two between them, Arthur can distinctively feel how Shino is practically burning up.
Shino quietly stares up at him through the droplets dripping from his hair when Arthur lets him know as much, then, eventually, with a huff, “Aren’t I always?”, and the stern look Arthur has put effort into mustering wouldn’t have stayed if it weren’t for how disastrously rough Shino sounds. Despite the (very weak, negligible) resistance, Shino immediately sinks powerlessly into the cushion once Arthur all but tosses him to the nearest sofa, not before softly chanting his spell to thoroughly dry Shino up. No fight is visible on Shino as his eyes flutter shut, having comfortably curled up under a very soft, very warm quilt Arthur summoned, and yet—
“I’m fine.” Shino repeats himself in a murmur Arthur could’ve mistaken for sleeptalk if he wasn’t crouching by Shino’s side and watching the intense twitching of his eyelids. “This is no biggie—ugh, my damn head… I should—”
He holds Shino down from even attempting to live up to his declaration. “No, you don’t,” childishly leaps from his tongue before Arthur can help it. “I mean, not only do I think Heathcliff is capable of self-defense, but he also has Cain just across the hall, doesn’t he? You can trust Cain, can’t you, Shino?”
Shino cracks an eye open as Arthur scrambles to clarify himself, only to immediately close it after a quick peek with a pitiful sniffle. Seized by a sudden chill, he buries himself further into the blanket, unaware of the fond smile replacing Arthur’s frown once he reluctantly relents to the fatigue and goes unmoving. He is worried about Heath—when does he not—but that is very much not the only issue at hand. This is but a measle cold at worst, he isn’t so helpless he’ll die flying home under a bit of rain—
…No, can a sofa be this comfortable? It’s even better than his bed.
Arthur carries on through the rustle made when he stands up, unbothered by whether Shino is even remotely listening, “You, on the other hand, need some rest right now.” The finality in his tone reminds Shino of Heath in the rare instances he puts himself forward as the Blanchett heir—the quiet delivery not compromising authority. Astoundingly natural, even, plenty befitting of a crown prince. “...Unless you would like something to eat first? Some water? A change of clothes? I can have someone bring some medicine along—”
The onslaught of questions compounds into his growing headache; Shino interrupts them with a deep groan and throws the quilt over his head, curling up into himself and turning away. No offense seems to be taken seeing as Arthur’s airy chuckle follows the stunned silence without the departing footsteps—leaving Shino, too, somehow, at a loss: people usually take the cue to leave him alone or chase him off. Sure, Arthur doesn’t look like he can even politely send him off, but.
Either way, the flickering conscience in Shino has him responding:
“…Thanks. I’ll just, sleep it off. Dun worry. Isn’t like this’s never ’appened before.” His words come out in a hoarse, slurred string. Alright, it has never been this bad. Probably. Dammit, it’s getting hard to even fucking think. Can’t rest, just yet. There’s still something else… Heath. Yes. Heath. “And take the charm from under m’belt. ’s connected to the wards in Heath’s room and ’ll burn if someone breaks ‘em…”
Shino clears his throat—and winces at how it is sore. “Also, like, if someone else comes, you can, I dunno, wake me up and I’ll leave, or…”
Another sound binds to his voice: Arthur is interjecting—or maybe it’s raining worse outside. The prince didn’t close his window earlier, did he not? What is with the noble kids and their penchant for carelessness; Shino cannot comprehend the importance of, well, paperwork, for instance, over making sure the doors are locked so you stay alive and kicking for another day. Arthur, he tries, unable to do it for Arthur the way he would always for Heath, make sure you close your goddamn window—
Having no energy to even so much as tense up when a hand grabs his chin, Shino lets something sweet touch the tip of his tongue. His awareness then goes extinguished like the last ember of flame, leaving delicate fingers to retreat unscorched from his thin lips.