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"Some rest should do the trick." Delicate hands place a warm, damp cloth on her patient's head, a reassuring smile sent from above. "Don't worry about the test right now, okay? I can help you with anything you're struggling with later."
That time of year had arrived at the Grove again, dreaded by scholars and Courtyard staff alike: exam season.
Truthfully, it wasn't rare to see students from other schools enter in need of treatment for mental exhaustion. (Helkolithists were a rare case of physical exhaustion, often pushing themselves too hard in efforts to have their bodies in top shape.) Studying and cramming for tests often took a toll on students, and the demand for bedrest and proper hydration skyrocketed. In her first year after establishing the Courtyard, Hyacine had trouble keeping up with the lack of supplies and staff, and was nearly ready to collapse herself — but now that it had grown with more financial support and even sponsorship from the Sages themselves to increase the facilities and staff, she had no problem managing the rush this time of year.
What did concern her, however, was Anaxagoras.
Despite Hyacine's recommendation to follow the general protocol of written tests, Anaxagoras kept insisting upon oral exams for his students. He would always argue that this format was better for testing their knowledge of soul physics, and increased studies were merely a consequence of that.
Of course, Hyacine thought, increased studying leaded to cram sessions and all-nighters, and all-nighters lead to poor health and lack of concentration, defeating the purpose of retained knowledge if the students weren't in a well enough mindset to deliver it properly… she had argued such a point before to him. Although she chose to leave out how her workload at the Courtyard would increase due to the amount of Nousporist students she had to treat every year, she could see how he put two and two together, something in his eye changing.
If she had to guess, it was a slight guilt. Not because he was pushing his students too much, but because he was putting an additional burden on her. It wasn't enough to change how he delivered tests entirely, but he began to check in on her during her shifts.
This year, however, she noticed the absence of routine buzzing from the teleslate in her pocket.
After she'd properly attended to her last patient, she ducked to the side to check her messages. Their last exchanged texts were from earlier in the day, where Anaxagoras asked her if she could retrieve some files he'd forgotten in his office. Below that, Hyacine's messages had gone unread.
"Professor, how are you? I'm sure organizing and delivering exams is tough on the instructor too, so please check in if you need me"
"Too busy to respond? That's okay. Shoot me a message if you need me"
"Respond when you can, please, I'm getting a little worried about you"
All of them went unread. It wasn't unusual for Anaxagoras to go without checking his messages for hours, but Hyacine felt something was off. It wasn't like him to ignore her when he was always so concerned about her health during exam season. The more she ruminated, the more the nagging feeling in her chest grew and grew until she thought she had to do something about it.
Calling in a quick favor with Clementine to watch over the clinic while she was away, Hyacine set out to see him, jogging at a brisk pace. She knew his schedule like the back of her own hand by this point — by this time he should still be in the classroom, taking care of a few extra affairs before returning to his office. If he were well, that is.
Worst-case scenarios filled her head and heart with anxiety as she cut through the winding halls of the Grove, taking the much-treaded path up to the Nousphorist division. Furrowing her lip, she turned the corner and hurried into the amphitheater. She half expected to see Anaxagoras on the floor, or dealing with the side effects of an impromptu experiment that he put his health at risk for again — but when she approached the desk, all she saw was the professor, standing hunched over the wood and gathering scrolls. When he turned to face her, she immediately took note of his body language.
First, his good eye softened at the corner, and the crease in the middle of his brow that seemed ever-present went away. It didn't last long, evidently marking confusion at her sudden appearance (understandable; she told him she would have to spend all day at the Courtyard looking after patients and wouldn't be around to help in her usual assistant duties).
Second, and more concerning, his gaze seemed a little distant. He looked like a ghost, his skin pale and the dark circle under his eye standing out prominent against it. His balance didn't seem all that great, either, given the way he wobbled slightly when he straightened his back.
"Hyacinthia," he greets. "I wasn't expecting you."
As much as she'd happily return his warm greeting on any other day, Hyacine isn't having it right now. She puts her hands on her hips as she gazes up sternly at him. "You know why I'm here. You haven't been checking in on me all day when you usually do, and I tried messaging you three times already with no answer! And now that I've come to see you, I can already tell you're clearly unwell. Are you taking care of yourself?"
The deep sigh that follows causes her to narrow her eyes at him, watching as he brings up a ring-adorned hand to rub at his temples. "Yes… yes, I will be fine. There is no need to concern yourself with my health, I've simply stayed up too late going over student records."
"I'm not buying it." Hyacine reaches up to grasp at his wrist. Even through the cloth of his glove, she can tell his skin is running peculiarly warm. "Come with me so I can give you a proper check-up."
"There's really no need —"
His protests fall on deaf ears as she starts to drag him out of the amphitheater, the scrolls he'd gathered under his arm dropping to the floor as he flailed and stumbled along.
"Hyacine… Hyacine, truly, I'm…"
The lightheadedness evident in his voice tips her off, and she turns around just to see the professor wobbling, split seconds away from fainting. Acting quickly, Hyacine shoots her arms out to catch him as he falls forward. His sheer height in comparison to her own made it an awkward affair: she can't completely support his weight, leaving his legs halfway dragging on the floor.
For a moment, she considers the feasibility of dragging him all the way over to the Courtyard like this. Although she doesn't live up to the strength of the Skyfolk, she's no pushover — and it helps that Anaxagoras is rather light. (Almost concerningly so, but right now, it at least works in her favor.) The thought of dirtying his slacks and potentially giving him bruised and scraped-up knees is undesirable, but… how else is she possibly going to carry him?
Just then, an idea dawns on her.
—
When she re-enters the Courtyard, two of the attending nurses do a double take at the head doctor's return, notably the fact that she's steering a cart with the Nousporist sage's unconscious body inside, his arms and legs dangling over the edges.
"No time for questions," she announces. "Do we have any open beds?"
"Yes. We just discharged a patient—"
Without waiting for the nurse to finish, when she points out the bed, Hyacine maneuvers the cart over to it and parks it by the side. She takes hold of his body underneath the arms, and with a grunt of effort, hoists him up to rest on top of the sheets. As soon as he's settled, she immediately kicks herself into gear to make sure he's as comfortable as possible: he'd presented with a fever, so she removes his overcoat and outershirt to help him cool off; she closes some of the curtains nearby to block out a bit of sunlight and lower the room's temperature, but not so much that no natural light is present; she fluffs some pillows just as the professor likes them — firm, with a little bit of give — and tucks them underneath his head.
When she returns to his side having fetched a basin full of cool water, a quiet groan reaches her ears. She sets the basin on one of the pedestals by the bed and gazes down at Anaxagoras, offering him a sympathetic smile when he opens his eye.
"…I appear to have fainted," he mutters.
"Astute observation, Professor. Lift your head up a little for me?"
He complies unquestioningly, but when he notices Hyacine dipping a goblet into the basin, he reaches over to try and take it from her hand — to which she lightly smacks him away.
"I'm not a child, Hyacinthia. I can drink it myself."
"You're not," she agrees," but right now, you are my patient, so will you let me take care of you?"
The two of them stare at each other for what seems like years. As if to wave a white flag in surrender to the psychic battle taking place, he drops his arm and directs his gaze slightly away from her. Hyacine leans over and brings the edge of the goblet to his lips, her other hand brushing away his bangs and cupping his jaw as she watches him drink. His throat bobs with each gulp of water, and all she can wonder is how dehydrated he must have been if he was truly this thirsty. Once the goblet is empty, she pulls away with a sweet, self-satisfied little smile.
"There we go. That wasn't so hard, was it?"
His head rests back against the pillows with a soft thud — his face seems a little red now, she notices; is he catching a fever? Frowning, she rests a palm against his forehead. His skin doesn't feel excessively hot, but he seems to avoid meeting her gaze when she draws closer. Could it be?
As if to confirm her suspicions, Anaxagoras speaks up. "Do all of your patients recieve such a special bedside manner?"
"Not all of them," she replies, "but you are special to me, so you deserve special treatment."
"Ugh. Spare me the embarrassment in front of your patients and colleagues, please." His hand reaches up to cover his face, half-hiding it from her, and she laughs.
Thankfully, he doesn't protest to staying in the Courtyard until he feels better. Hyacine makes a point of checking in and spending time with him for the rest of the evening between treating other patients. At the cusp of the Curtain-Fall Hour, much of the day staff and patients have filed out, leaving the Courtyard in a serene silence as most of the overnight patients lay asleep in their beds.
Hyacine pushes through the curtains that separates Anaxagoras's bed from the others, a tray of food in her hands. She's supplied him with some reading material so he wouldn't get bored, even though she doubted it would catch his interest — the Courtyard mostly stockpiled news, cooking compendiums and historical records — but it brings her some relief to see him engaged in reading when she enters.
"I don't suppose you're going to spoonfeed me my dinner, are you?"
"Didn't even think of that," she responds honestly, taking a seat by his side as she places the tray on his lap. "Unless you want me to?"
His response comes a little too quickly. "N-no. I can eat it myself."
The urge to tease him is like instinct at this point — she feels it at the back of her throat, the question of 'are you sure?' — but she has mercy on him this time. He's dealt with enough of her teasing for one day.
It brings her a great deal of relief to see him eating. Thanks to her care, he seems in much better spirits. Some color has returned to his skin. He's never had a rosy complexion like she does, but the small red patches that dust his knuckles are enough of a health indicator. The diagnosis is clear: lack of sleep, too much work, and not enough food and water. Given how many of his students she's been treating, she could almost laugh at the irony if she weren't so worried about him neglecting to take care of himself.
Her fingers find their way to the lacy edge of her dress, toying with it between her fingers as she thinks of how to approach the issue. Hyacine has always believed that a patient should be approached with empathy and understanding first and foremost, especially one as precious to her as Anaxagoras is — she wonders if he will listen to her properly, though. It's enough of a surprise to her that he actually considers trying to smooth things over with Aglaea. He always makes it clear that it's done not out of the interest of actually improving their relationship, but for her sake.
Would he forgive her, then, if she used that notion against him?
"Anaxa, just how much time are you spending putting together these exams for your students?"
"Too much," he muttered, voice muffled by a mouthful of pie. Hyacine's gaze lands on the crumbs stuck to the corner of his lip. "Between that and attending to breakthroughs in research, it has left me with very little time to engage in other matters."
The way he refers to basic acts of self-care as other matters bothers her deeply. She tries not to show it, but the edge of her lip twitches in a barely-suppressed frown.
"If you keep neglecting yourself like that, you won't have much more time to continue research," she says, quieter than intended.
"Others can simply pick up where I left—"
Hyacine reaches forward and takes his hand between her own. He's stopped himself like she interrupted him before she even started talking, staring up at her expectantly, studying her features.
"Keep yourself alive for my sake, then." She squeezes his hand, feeling the way it warms up between her palms. "I'll be very angry with you if you cross over to the netherworld before it's your time to."
His gaze lowers to the sheets, to the mostly-cleaned tray of food. Hyacine used to believe that she couldn't understand what all was going through his mind, but she has spent long enough around him to believe that she has a neat little window into his brain. A peek behind the curtain of the Great Performer's stage, where only she has been allowed.
"Very well," he agrees. "For your sake."
She knows that there is a plethora of thoughts running through his head that don't reach his lips. They don't need to be voiced aloud, because when Anaxagoras turns his palm and interlaces his fingers with Hyacine's, that little action communicates more than whatever could possibly be said.
Her sight drifts down to their connected hands. She could spend hours marveling at all the ways they differ. Hyacine's softer, filled-out hands, compared to Anaxagoras's thin and bony ones. They're just a bit bigger than her own, her palm fitting comfortably in his. Her skin is delicate, tailored for intricate doctoral work — making incisions, suturing wounds, performing checkups. Her professor's hands have developed tiny calluses in contrast. If she had to guess, it must have been from spending all that time doing… well, whatever he does in his lab. Alchemy, she supposes. He's never let her inside.
"You agreed faster than I expected you to," she admits. "I thought I would have to fight you on that."
A corner of his mouth curls upwards. "I would be a fool to go against my doctor's orders."
"That you would." She returns the smirk. "I'd have to drag you back here by force if I have to. I'll even enlist Little Ica's help."
"Invoking that fearsome creature's ire? No thank you."
Hyacine laughs, loud at first, then stifles herself with her free hand out of fear of waking the other patients. All the stress of the day melts away as she chats with Anaxagoras, exchanging topics as naturally as the leaves change colors in the seasons: the students' performances so far and what needs improvement to the amount of patients she'd seen and advised in the Courtyard. It apparently brought him some amusement to know she had been tutoring some of them.
Once he'd finished up his meal, Hyacine got up to dispose of the tray and dishes and came back just to spend time by his side for the rest of the evening. A small, foolish part of her worried that if she let him out of her sight for too long, he would vanish — gone without a trace, leaving her messages unread again until she goes to seek him out once more. But he remained, and he held her hand again. He tilted his head to the side to allow her to gently thumb away the crumbs stuck to his cheek. He did not complain when she dipped a cloth into the basin and dabbed at his skin to freshen him up a little, her touch lingering when it rested on his cheek and anywhere close to his lips.
He was sound asleep before long. A combination of her pampering and the sheer exhaustion of illness and a rough day must have did him in, she concludes.
For a good while, Hyacine simply remains by his side and watches him rest. She counts the rhythm of the rise and fall of his chest, observing how he breathes in deep and slow. How lucky she thinks herself to be able to witness the parts of him that nobody else sees — that he will not allow anyone else but her to see.
Fatigue encroaches on her mind as the minutes pass. She'll need rest, too, before long. Although the thought to take up a free bed in the Courtyard crosses her mind, she has a much better idea.
Slipping out of her shoes, she crawls up onto the bed beside Anaxagoras, careful not to make any fast or forceful movements out of fear of waking him up. Thankfully, he remains in deep slumber as she curls up by him, tucking herself against his side and underneath his arm. He smells of chalk, sulfur and earth. Most people wouldn't think of it as a soothing fragrance, but to Hyacine, it is a comfort precisely because it belongs to him.
She blinks, her eyes flutter shut. She doesn't know if the way his arm shifts to wrap around her is a conscious thought or not, but it soothes her nonetheless, drifting into a peaceful sleep surrounded by her beloved professor.