Work Text:
When Mikleo wakes up, he is already late.
His phone is buzzing faintly with his alarm. He wonders absently why it is so quiet, but when he reaches for it he realises why. His hand gropes wildly for a second or two, before he comes to terms with the fact that he never even slept in his bed. The spine of a book presses painfully into his cheek. He must have passed out on his desk last night, exhausted from studying for the test.
All at once, everything comes back to him. Today is the test. He has slept for too long. He has to get up and move.
In a split second, he is in motion. He sits up straight and looks around, only vaguely feeling how his face feels almost peeled from pressing it so hard into a book all night and then removing it so quickly. He springs up from his desk chair and rushes down the hall, righting his rumpled shirt as he goes.
His phone is in the bedroom, buzzing redundantly on his dresser. When he silences it, he sees the time on the screen.
He is an hour late already.
Cold chills settle in his stomach. There is no time for eating or making himself presentable. He sweeps his things off the desk into a bag and runs out the door. He locks it behind himself and almost walks into a streetlight as he checks bus times on his phone.
"How could I be so stupid?" he mutters to himself. The hat he pulled over his crow's nest of a hairstyle on the way out slips dangerously and he tugs at it to keep it in place.
He jogs down the street as quickly as he dares, considering very carefully the thick sheets of ice on the ground. He can make the next bus, but it requires a somewhat relaxed attitude towards his own safety.
Screw it, he thinks, and breaks into a run.
He does make the bus, so some of the karma in the universe is working for him.
Sadly, that seems to be it. Safely on he bus, he takes an inventory of his bag. He has only one of the two books he needs for the test, but he has most of it memorised so it will just have to work out. He forgot his gloves at home, together with his scarf. It also appears that he took the wrong jacket this morning, as the cold seems to have intensified during the night. Considering the importance of this test, it feels like a small sacrifice.
As time passes, it begins to snow outside his window. It has been snowing all night, from the looks of it. Everything is covered in a thick sheet of it. It is a beautiful image, everything perfectly white and pristine. However, Mikleo does not have much time to appreciate it today.
His bus ride is half an hour long, after which he switches to a train for a station. He takes the time to go through the material one more time, making absolute sure that he knows the half of it he has with him.
Bitter worry stirs in him, making him feel nauseous and angry. This is the most important test in this course, and he might just miss the first twenty minutes of it. That is provided nothing else goes wrong on the way.
He hopes dearly that it does not, but his hopes are wasted. When they reach the train station, a horde of people are already gathered on the platform. The trains are not moving, and the weather is only getting worse.
Mikleo stands around for a good ten minutes, wracked with worry and guilt. He considers the options he has.
Calling a taxi does not work. It seems that the snow chaos has gotten bad enough that almost nothing is moving. Mikleo was apparently lucky to get the one bus driver who did not care whether or not the bus slipped off the road. He wonders whether he should be grateful or worried.
He paces back and forth on the sidewalk. Fresh snow is beginning to coat his shoulders and slip under his collar. The cold bites at him. He rubs his hands together as he thinks.
The university is fourty-five minutes of walking from where he is. His phone is on its last percent of battery, because he fell asleep like an idiot and did not put it to charge. He has not had breakfast, and he is beginning to lose feeling in his hands. By all accounts he should go home.
Then again, this test is too important for him to miss. He cannot take this course again. He will not survive dealing with this teacher any more than he already has. He has to pass. He has to.
He turns on his heel and continues down the sidewalk. He knows the way.
He realises about halfway what a dumb idea it was to try to walk that far in biting cold with no gloves and a thin coat. The snow gathers in the crevices of his jacket and melts into his clothes. He shivers periodically as he walks.
The wind picks up, because of course it does. It whips at his face and he pulls his hat down as far as it will go around his cheeks. When he reaches campus, it looks deserted. It also looks so picturesque with the fresh snow that it provokes him.
His pace picks up again when he gets close. He slips a bit as he reaches the building, but he quickly regains his footing. With a rough motion he pulls at the door, eager to get into the warmth inside.
The door does not budge. It is locked.
It takes him a good few seconds to process what is happening to him, because panic is still clouding up most of his thoughts. He blinks, shakes his head.
His phone has died now. He has no way into the dark building. The snow is still falling on his head.
He paces out onto the sidewalk, utterly dumbfounded. His mind reels through options.
It seems that the building is closed down for the day. For a hot second, he cannot imagine why, until he feels yet another clump of snow melting into the collar of his coat. Of course. The snow. There is likely no class today. No test.
He takes it all in as he paces, processing it almost in slow motion.
He woke up late after a mere four hours of sleep. His phone is dead and he is dressed for light fall weather in what is quickly turning into a snow storm. Snow has leaked into his clothes and boots and he has neither gloves nor a scarf. His stomach is empty and he feels vaguely lightheaded.
The options he has are 'walk back to the train station' and 'lay down and die right here'. He weighs and considers them carefully.
In he end, he does not have to choose. He sweeps off a bench and sits down, just for a second to think. His body seems to think otherwise, as he sways when he tries to stand up just a minute later.
"This is bad," he says, almost absently, because his thoughts are getting hazy. He puts his hands to his face and rubs. He has to think of something.
He does not have time to make a choice, because his body takes his options and suggests a compromise in between. The cold and the effort on no energy becomes too much. He stumbles backwards onto the bench again, and blacks out.
When Mikleo wakes up, he is in an unfamiliar place. It is warm and comfortable, which makes him wonder for just a second whether he has died and gone to heaven. In that case, he would probably not have to take the test.
The thought reminds him, and it sparks panic. He stirs with a gasp and tries to sit up. It surprises him when he cannot, as a warm and firm hand presses on his shoulder, keeping him down.
"Easy there," a gentle voice says. Mikleo blinks. His eyes focus.
A man around his own age is sitting next to him. Mikleo registers that he is in a sofa, a pillow under his head and two layers of cover wrapped around him with great care.
"Where am I?" he asks, staring up into green eyes.
The guy smiles sadly. "Don't be scared. You're at my house. I found you passed out in the snow and got worried, so I brought you here."
Mikleo's eyes roam around him, taking in the room. He is in a living room with a lit fireplace. It is decorated in warm browns and reds. The light flickers around the room, giving it an inviting glow.
"I passed out?" he asks. He only vaguely remembers. The guy nods.
"I live right next to campus. I saw you walking in and I was wondering what you were doing there. The whole place is closed for the day."
"Should have suspected as much," Mikleo mumbles, ashamed. He pulls himself up to get into a sitting position, slower so that the guy will let him. His head spins, and not in any way that is fun.
His hair is even more messy and he must look like death warmed over at this point. He drags a hand through his bangs self consciously.
"I'm sorry about this," he says. "I don't want to intrude-"
"Oh, no worries." The guy laughs. "I like having people over. I just wish the circumstances were a little less dire." He smiles in a way that is infectious. Mikleo looks away, sheepish.
"I'm Sorey," the guy says, and Mikleo feels even more like an ass. He takes the hand Sorey offers him.
"Mikleo," he says. "Thank you for saving me."
"No problem." Sorey shakes his head. "How do you feel? You weren't passed out that long, but..." he trails off, his expression worried.
Mikleo takes stock of his general aches and stings. He feels warmer by a lot, and drier. His coat and hat and shoes are gone, likely removed by Sorey, and the fire is doing wonders for warming him back up.
"I think I'm okay," he says, even as the room tilts a bit. "Kind of dizzy."
Sorey is just about to say something when Mikleo's stomach takes the opportunity to make its presence known. Sorey raises an eyebrow.
"Guessing you didn't eat before you left to trek all the way to campus?" he asks. It is not judgmental so much as concerned. Mikleo finds it both slightly insulting and very sweet. Then again, it is not like he has his life together the way he should, so maybe he has no room to talk.
"No," he admits. He has not eaten anything today, not to mention yesterday when he came home stressed out of his mind and went directly to his desk. When he thinks about it, he cannot seem to remember what his last meal was.
"In fact," he says slowly, the realisation dawning on him, "I think I may have forgotten to eat for two days."
Sorey frowns, accusing but still concerned. "Now, that won't do. Not at all. Who even does that sort of thing?"
Miklo chuckles. "Someone taking Ancient Greek with Mr Young."
Sorey winces. "That does actually explain it, which in itself is kind of sad." He leans in close, and Mikleo raises an eyebrow at him, curious.
"However, I wouldn't be a very gracious host if I let my guest just walk back out into the snow without eating anything. I'm deciding that you're having breakfast here with me."
Mikleo wants to refuse, to say that he has already taken up enough of this man's time and hospitality, but the urge to sass him is too strong. He has that look about him. It is apparently strong enough that not even Mikleo's awkwardness can overcome it.
"Oh, are you?" he asks, amused. Sorey looks very serious, and Mikleo can tell just from that expression that it is not a common occurrence. Sorey nods very gravely.
"I'm afraid so. Now, do you prefer toast or cereal? I also make a mean omelette." He smiles proudly with the admission.
Mikleo blinks. He feels oddly touched by the offer. After a morning of nothing but snow chaos and disaster, it finally occurs to him that he has found himself in a warm place with no test to worry about anymore and a stranger offering him food. The sudden surge of kindness and comfort is uncommon to him, and he is not sure how to feel about it.
"Guess I gotta try that to make sure," he says, hiding expertly how he feels just a little bit choked up. Sorey smiles so brilliantly at him that he has to look away. He coughs, and covers his mouth with his hand, hoping it hides the blush on his cheeks.
"Great! Now, stay put. Can't have you passing out on me again." Sorey shoots up fom his chair and walks out of the room, leaving Mikleo behind with his conflicted feelings.
Mikleo considers his options for a long twenty seconds. Then he settles back into the sofa, his hands covering his face. Covering his smile. This day is turning out better and stranger than he ever expected.