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Snow fell endlessly over the mountain monastery, thick white flakes drifting lazily from the sky and piling against the stone steps and wooden railings. The world felt muted beneath the snowfall, as though even sound itself had been wrapped in cotton.
This was normal – expected, even. The monastery had always been cold, especially in winter. Living at the peak of a mountain had its downsides.
What wasn’t normal ...
... was Morro being sick.
Sensei Wu had seen many things in his long life. Battles, betrayals, miracles, disasters. He had watched kingdoms rise and fall, students come and go. But Morro – his Morro – falling ill?
That had never happened before.
The boy had once lived on the streets, surviving on scraps and stubborn willpower alone. He had slept in alleyways during storms, gone days without proper food, endured conditions that would have broken most children. If anyone should have been immune to sickness, it should have been Morro.
And yet.
Wu stood outside the small room at the far end of the monastery, hands folded tightly inside his sleeves. From behind the closed door came the faint sound of uneven breathing.
A fever.
Mystaké had assured him Morro would recover quickly – “It’s only a cold, Wu. His body simply isn’t used to comfort yet.” But reassurance did little to ease the tightness in Wu’s chest.
He had canceled training for the day.
The other students had been very unhappy about that.
“But Sensei – !”
“We trained in worse storms than this!”
“The snow isn’t even that bad!”
Wu hadn’t argued. He had simply smiled calmly and dismissed them all, citing the harsh weather. None of them needed to know the real reason.
Right now, Morro came first.
Inside the room, the fire crackled softly, casting warm orange light over stone walls. Thick blankets had been layered atop a small futon bed near the hearth, forming a cocoon of warmth. And in the middle of it all lay Morro.
He looked ... small.
Too small.
His normally sharp eyes were half-lidded and unfocused, his skin flushed with feverish heat. Strands of black hair clung damply to his forehead, and his breathing came shallow and uneven, as if even that took effort.
Morro hated this.
He hated feeling like this.
His body felt wrong – too heavy and too light at the same time. Every limb ached, like he’d trained too hard without rest, and his head throbbed with a dull, pounding pain that refused to go away. Worst of all was the cold. No matter how many blankets were piled on top of him, it still felt like icy wind was creeping under his skin.
He had fought monsters.
He had survived starvation.
He had faced fear itself.
And yet this – this stupid sickness – was completely unbearable.
“Stupid ... body ... ” he muttered weakly, his voice hoarse.
The door slid open quietly.
Wu stepped inside, carrying a small tray with a steaming cup of tea. The scent of herbs filled the room – earthy and soothing, just as Mystaké had instructed. Wu approached the bed slowly, careful not to startle him.
“Morro,” Wu said gently. “How are you feeling?”
Morro cracked one eye open. “Like ... like I got hit by a train.”
Wu winced sympathetically. “That bad, hm?”
Morro tried to scoff, but it came out as a cough instead. He turned his head away, embarrassed. “I’m fine,” he insisted, voice shaky. “I don’t need – ”
“You are not fine,” Wu said softly but firmly. “And you do need rest.”
Wu set the tray aside and crouched next to the bed. He reached out, hesitated for a moment, then gently placed the back of his hand against Morro’s forehead.
Hot.
Too hot.
Wu’s expression tightened. “Your fever hasn’t gone down yet.”
Morro groaned. “Told you ... I’m dying.”
“You are not dying,” Wu replied dryly, though worry still flickered in his eyes. “You are sick. There is a difference.”
Wu slid one arm behind Morro’s shoulders. “Come. Sit up for me.”
Normally, this would have been easy. Morro was the Master of Wind – strong, agile, powerful. Sitting up should’ve taken no effort at all.
But today, his body didn’t respond the way he wanted it to.
He tried to push himself upright ... and failed.
His arms trembled uselessly, and he let out a frustrated hiss. His face burned – not from the fever this time, but from embarrassment.
Wu noticed immediately.
“Easy,” Wu said, steadying him. “There is no shame in needing help.”
Morro looked away, jaw clenched. “There is when I shouldn’t.”
Wu didn’t argue. He simply supported Morro’s weight and helped him sit up against the pillows. Morro slumped slightly, breathing harder than he liked.
Wu handed him the cup of tea. “Mystaké prepared this. She says it will help.”
Morro eyed the steam warily. “It smells ... weird.”
“Medicine often does.”
Morro accepted the cup with shaky hands. The warmth seeped into his fingers, soothing in a way he hadn’t expected. He took a cautious sip.
... Okay. That wasn’t terrible.
As he drank, the tension in his shoulders eased just a little. His eyelids drooped, exhaustion tugging at him like a tide.
“Thanks,” he mumbled.
Wu smiled. “You are welcome.”
There was a brief silence, broken only by the fire and the wind howling faintly outside.
Then, without thinking –
“ ... thank you for the tea, dad.”
The words slipped out easily. Naturally.
Too easily.
Wu stilled.
Not dramatically Just ... still.
For a heartbeat, he said nothing.
The fire crackled. Snow brushed softly against the window.
Wu looked down at Morro – feverish, half-asleep, trusting without realizing it – and something warm settled quietly in his chest. Not loud. Not overwhelming.
Just there.
Morro blinked, hazy eyes focusing at last. “ ... Sensei?” he asked weakly. “Why’d you stop talking?”
Wu cleared his throat. “Morro,” he said gently, “what did you just call me?”
Morro froze.
His eyes widened in horror.
“I – ! I – oh no, uhm – ” He tried to sit up again, panic overriding exhaustion. “I didn’t mean it! I swear! I wasn’t thinking, I just – please don’t be mad – ”
Wu immediately placed a steady hand on his shoulder. “Easy,” he said calmly. “You’ll make yourself dizzy.”
Morro stopped, breathing hard. “ ... You’re not mad?”
Wu shook his head. “No.”
“ ... Not offended?”
“No.”
“ ... Not gonna make me do extra chores?”
Wu almost smiled. Almost.
“I’m not upset at all,” Wu said. Then, after a pause, added honestly, “I was simply ... surprised.”
Morro shrank into the blankets, mortified. “I didn’t mean to say it out loud. I know you’re my sensei and I shouldn’t – ”
Wu interrupted softly, “Morro.”
Morro looked up.
Wu’s voice was warm, grounded – like the monastery itself. “Words spoken in trust are not something to apologize for.”
Morro swallowed. “ ... Oh.”
Silence stretched again, gentler this time.
“ ... Can I ask you something?” Morro muttered.
“Yes.”
“ ... Did it bother you?”
Wu considered the question carefully. Truly.
Then he answered, “No.”
Morro peeked at him. “Not even a little?”
Wu shook his head. “Not even a little.”
Morro hesitated, fingers twisting in the blanket. “ ... Then ... is it okay if I – sometimes – call you that?”
Wu didn’t answer right away.
Instead, he reached up and adjusted the blankets around Morro’s shoulders, tucking him in properly.
Then he said, “If that is what feels right to you ... then yes.”
Morro’s face heated – this time not from the fever.
“ ... Dad,” he said, quieter now, like he was testing the word.
Wu rested a hand on Morro’s head, grounding, steady. “Rest, son.” he said gently.
Morro let out a shaky breath, then leaned forward without warning, pressing into Wu’s chest in a clumsy, tired hug.
Wu stiffened for half a second –
Then wrapped his arms around him.
Outside, snow continued to fall.
Inside, neither of them spoke.
They didn’t need to.