Work Text:
The infirmary smelled faintly of antiseptic and old parchment, the kind of place where pain lingered even after the wounds were closed.
Abyss Razor lay still on the narrow bed, bandages wrapped tightly around his stomach, rising and falling with each shallow breath. Without his mask, Abyss looked younger somehow. Fragile. Human.
Abel stood at the foot of the bed, arms crossed, jaw tight.
“The attack missed anything vital,” the nurse said calmly as she finished adjusting the bandages. “But it was deep. He moved suddenly to shield you, another inch, and it would have been far worse.”
Abel’s fingers curled into his sleeves.
“Keep him resting,” she continued. “No duels. No exertion. And absolutely no wandering the campus alone tonight. He’s lucky.”
Lucky.
The word grated against Abel’s chest.
The nurse glanced at him pointedly. “Make sure he sleeps somewhere safe. And warm.”
“I will,” Abel replied immediately.
The nurse blinked, surprised by the sharpness in his voice, then nodded and left them alone.
The door clicked shut. Silence spilled into the room.
Abel didn’t move at first. He simply stood there, staring at Abyss’s pale face, the faint crease between his brows even in sleep. Abel could still see it, Abyss stepping in front of him without hesitation, the flash of metal, the sound of impact.
Why? Why had Abyss always done that?
Slowly, Abel moved closer and sat at the edge of the bed.
“Idiot,” he murmured, so quietly it barely counted as sound.
Abyss stirred, lashes fluttering before his eyes opened. They were unfocused at first, then widened slightly when they landed on Abel.
“Lord Abel…?” His voice was hoarse. “You’re… okay?”
Abel felt something twist sharply in his chest. “Yes,” he said. “Because you weren’t.”
Abyss winced, not from pain, but guilt. “I’m sorry. I… I didn’t think…”
“That’s obvious.”
The words were sharp, but Abel’s hand had already moved, resting lightly on the blanket near Abyss’s side, careful not to touch the wound.
“You should never put yourself between me and an attack like that again.”
Abyss swallowed. “I had to.”
Abel’s eyes snapped up. “You didn’t.”
“Yes, I did.” Abyss’s voice trembled, but he didn’t look away. “You’re… you’re important. More than me.”
Abel stared at him, disbelief flashing into something dangerously close to sincere sadness.
“Do you truly believe that?” Abel asked quietly.
Abyss hesitated. That was answer enough.
Abel exhaled sharply and stood. He turned away, pacing once, then stopped. “You nearly died,” he said, his voice low. “Do you have any idea what that would have—”
He cut himself off. Abel didn’t finish sentences like that. He turned back and reached for Abyss’s hand before he could stop himself. The contact was hesitant at first. Then firmer.
“You are not expendable,” Abel said. “Not to me.”
Abyss froze. His fingers trembled where they rested in Abel’s grasp.
“You mean that?”
Abel didn’t answer immediately. He simply tightened his hold. “I’m taking you with me,” he said instead. “To my room.”
Abyss blinked. “W-what?”
“You’re not staying alone in the infirmary,” Abel said. “The nurse was clear. You need supervision.”
Abyss’s ears turned red. “I can manage—”
“No.” The word left no room for argument.
Abel leaned closer, his voice lowering. “You will sleep in my room tonight. I’ll make sure you rest. That is final.”
Abyss’s heart hammered painfully against his ribs. “Okay,” he whispered.
Abel helped him sit up slowly, supporting his weight with careful precision. Abyss hissed softly but didn’t complain. Abel noticed everything, the way Abyss’s grip tightened around his sleeve, the way he leaned instinctively closer.
When they finally reached Abel’s dormitory, the room was unmistakably Abel’s, immaculate, orderly, everything in its place. And in the center of it was a single bed, neatly made, dark sheets pulled tight.
Abel’s bed.
Abyss barely made it two steps into the room before Abel spoke.
“Lie down.”
Abyss froze, his brain stalled. Heat rushed straight to his face. “W-wait, on that bed?”
“Yes.” The answer was immediate, effortless, as if Abel had asked him to sit in a chair.
Abyss’s ears burned. He stood there stiffly, hands hovering uselessly at his sides, heart pounding loud enough he was sure Abel could hear it.
“B-but” He swallowed hard. “That’s… that’s your bed.”
Abel turned to him, eyebrow lifting slightly. “Correct.”
Abyss looked away, mortified. “Then where will you sleep?” The question came out small. Almost scared.
Abel paused. For a fraction of a second, his composure faltered, just enough for Abyss to notice. Abel hadn’t thought that far ahead. Or rather, he had, but not in words.
“That’s not your concern,” Abel said at last.
“That makes it more my concern!” Abyss blurted out, then immediately clapped a hand over his mouth. “S-sorry.”
Abel exhaled slowly, the faintest hint of amusement flickering across his face. “You’re injured,” he said. “You take the bed.”
“And you…?” Abyss pressed, voice barely above a whisper.
Abel glanced toward the chair near his desk. Then back at Abyss. “I’ll manage.”
Abyss’s eyes widened. “Y-you can’t sleep in a chair all night!”
“I’ve endured worse.”
“That’s not the point!” Abyss took an anxious half-step forward, then winced as pain tugged at his side.
Abel was at him instantly, steadying him by the arm. “Careful,” he murmured.
The closeness made Abyss short-circuit completely. Abel’s hand was warm. Steady. Too close.
“Lord Abel,” Abyss said softly, not meeting his eyes. “I don’t want to take something that’s yours.”
Abel stiffened. Slowly, deliberately, he placed his other hand on Abyss’s shoulder and guided him toward the bed.
“You’re not taking anything,” Abel said. “I’m giving it to you. It's the least I can give you after everything you've done for me.”
Abyss’s breath caught. He sat down carefully, still blushing furiously, fingers clutching the sheets as if they might disappear.
Abel straightened the blankets around him with meticulous care, movements precise but gentle. When he was done, he lingered, standing there, looking down at Abyss as if committing the sight to memory.
“You stepped in front of the attack for me,” Abel said quietly. “If the cost of that is one night of inconvenience, then this isn’t even a question.”
Abyss’s throat tightened. “You’re unfair,” he whispered.
Abel tilted his head. “How so?”
“You say things like that,” Abyss murmured, “and then act like it means nothing.”
For once, Abel didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he reached out and rested his hand lightly over Abyss’s, just for a moment. “It means more than you think,” he said.
Abyss looked up at him, eyes shining, face still red but softer now. “Then,” he said hesitantly, “Would you stay? Until I fall asleep.”
Abel didn’t pull his hand away. “I was planning to.”
And for the first time since the fight, Abyss smiled. Small, exhausted, and utterly safe.
Abel remained beside the bed long after Abyss’s breathing evened out. Or at least, after it pretended to.
He could tell Abyss wasn’t truly asleep. The tension in his fingers, the way his lashes fluttered just a second too often. Abel knew him well enough by now to recognize the signs.
“You’re awake,” Abel said quietly.
Abyss flinched, then sighed. “Was it that obvious?”
“To me,” Abel replied.
Silence settled again, thicker this time. Abel’s hand rested on the edge of the mattress, close enough that their fingers almost touched. Almost. Abel stared at that small distance. It infuriated him.
“When you were stabbed,” Abel said, his voice low and controlled, “my first thought wasn’t strategy. Or retaliation. Or even anger.”
Abyss turned his head slightly, watching him.
“It was panic.” The word felt foreign on Abel’s tongue. He rarely allowed himself such honesty, especially aloud.
“I realized,” Abel continued, “that the idea of losing you was… unacceptable.”
Abyss’s breath hitched.
Abel finally looked at him, at the confusion, the vulnerability, the way Abyss seemed braced for rejection even now.
“I told myself,” Abel said, “that you were merely a subordinate. A useful ally. Someone who owed me loyalty.” His fingers curled slowly into the sheets. “That was a lie.”
Abyss’s eyes widened. “Lord Abel…”
“I don’t know when it changed,” Abel admitted. “Or how. Perhaps it was when you looked at me like I was worth following. Or when you smiled, rarely, awkwardly, but sincerely, only when you thought no one was watching.” He swallowed. “Or perhaps,” he said softly, “every time you chose me over your own safety.”
Abyss’s vision blurred.
“I am not good at this,” Abel said, almost bitterly. “I was raised to believe attachment is weakness. That affection is a liability.” He leaned closer now, voice dropping to something raw and unguarded. “But when you fell,” Abel whispered, “I understood something terrifying.”
Abyss’s fingers trembled as they finally brushed against Abel’s.
“I don’t see a future where you are not beside me.” The words hung between them, fragile and irreversible.
Abyss stared at him, lips parted, heart hammering wildly. “Lord Abel… Are you saying…”
“Yes.” No hesitation. No retreat.
“I care for you,” Abel said. “Not as a leader to his subordinate. Not as a benefactor repaying loyalty.” His hand closed gently around Abyss’s. “I want you,” Abel said. “And the thought of losing you frightens me more than any enemy ever has.”
Abyss’s breath broke into a quiet, shaking laugh, not from humor, but from relief so overwhelming it hurt. “I thought…” He blinked hard. “I thought I was just convenient. Someone you tolerated.”
Abel’s grip tightened slightly, as if offended by the idea. “You are the only person who ever stood beside me without asking for anything in return,” Abel said. “Do not diminish yourself like that.”
Tears slipped free despite Abyss’s efforts. “You’re cruel,” he whispered. “You know that?”
Abel frowned faintly. “I just confessed my feelings.”
“Yes,” Abyss said, voice trembling but smiling through it. “Exactly.”
He shifted carefully, wincing but determined, and lifted his free hand to Abel’s sleeve, clutching it like an anchor.
“I don’t regret protecting you,” Abyss said. “Not for a second. And if I had to choose again… I would still step in front of that attack.”
Abel’s expression darkened with emotion. “Don’t,” he said hoarsely. “Next time… let me be the one to bleed.”
Abyss shook his head weakly.
For a moment, neither spoke. Then Abel did something very uncharacteristic. He leaned forward and pressed his forehead gently against Abyss’s. The contact was light. Reverent.
“Rest,” Abel murmured. “You’re safe. And when you wake up…” He paused, just long enough to let the words settle. “…we’ll face everything together.”
Abyss closed his eyes, smiling through exhaustion and pain. “I’d like that,” he whispered.
When sleep finally claimed him, Abel stayed, hand still entwined with his, no longer standing guard out of obligation, but out of love.
Abel hadn’t slept that night.
The next morning, he sat exactly where he had been all night, back straight, one hand still laced with Abyss’s, as if moving might undo everything that had been said. The world felt different now, unbalanced, exposed. But not in a way he wished to correct.
Abyss stirred. At first it was just a faint shift, a soft breath catching in his chest. Then his fingers twitched around Abel’s.
“Lord… Abel?”
“I’m here,” Abel said immediately.
Abyss’s eyes opened slowly, unfocused at first, then widening as memory rushed back in all at once. The pain. The infirmary. The bed. The confession.
His face flushed instantly. “Oh,” he breathed. “So that wasn’t a dream.”
Abel’s lips curved, just barely. “No.”
Abyss swallowed, suddenly very aware of how close Abel still was. Of how warm his hand felt. Of how gentle Abel had been all night without saying a word.
“You stayed,” Abyss said softly.
“Yes.”
“All night?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Abel studied him for a long moment, then answered simply, “Because I wanted to.”
Abyss’s heart did something painfully stupid in his chest.
He tried to shift, then winced. Abel was immediately on him, steadying his shoulder with practiced care.
“Don’t,” Abel said. “The wound…”
“I know,” Abyss said quickly. “I just… I didn’t mean to—”
Abel’s hand lingered longer than necessary, thumb resting lightly against Abyss’s collarbone through the fabric.
“You don’t need to apologize,” Abel said. “Not to me.”
Abyss hesitated, then asked the question that had clearly been burning all night. “Do you still mean what you said?”
Abel didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “Yes.” No hesitation. No softening of the truth.
Abyss’s breath shook. “Even after everything? After Mash defeated us, after Magia Lupus fell apart, after… after you saw how weak I was?”
Abel’s eyes sharpened, not with anger, but certainty. “You misunderstand strength,” he said. “You always have.”
He reached up and brushed his thumb gently beneath Abyss’s eye, where dark circles had formed from pain and exhaustion.
“You were afraid,” Abel continued. “And you stayed anyway. You were hurt, and you protected me anyway. That is not weakness.”
Abyss’s eyes burned. “No one’s ever said that to me.”
Abel’s expression softened in a way only Abyss ever got to see. “Then allow me to say it again,” he said. “You are strong. And you are… precious to me.”
The word precious hit harder than any attack. Despite himself, Abyss smiled.
There was a knock at the door. Both of them froze.
Abel straightened immediately, composure snapping back into place like armor. “Enter.”
The door opened just enough for a student messenger to peer in. “Abel Walker, Mr. Wahlberg requests your presence later this morning. Also…” Their eyes flicked briefly to Abyss in the bed. “he said your… friend is excused from classes today.”
Abel nodded. “Understood.”
The door closed. Silence returned, but it felt warmer now.
“You’re excused,” Abel said, glancing back at Abyss. “Doctor’s orders.”
Abyss smiled faintly. “Would you stay with me?”
Abel didn’t even consider lying. “Yes. I’ll have meals brought here.”
“You don’t have to reorganize your entire life for me,” Abyss said, though his voice betrayed how much he wanted Abel to.
Abel sat back down beside the bed. “I’m not reorganizing,” he said. “I’m choosing.”
Abyss’s fingers tightened around his sleeve. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”
Abel leaned closer, resting his forehead against Abyss’s again, just like the night before.
“I repeat the same thing to myself all night,” he said quietly. “And I hope that someday I will find the answer.”
Abyss closed his eyes, smiling. “Maybe… I can give it to you.”
Outside, the academy carried on as usual, but, inside Abel Walker’s room, something new, something fragile and real, had begun, and neither of them intended to let it break.