Archive of Our Own

Lahai-Roi was a cold region compared to others.

The Helios hung bright in the sky, steady, artificial and necessary, turning a land that should have belonged entirely to ice and snow into one that still functioned as it did before the Lament occurred thousands of years prior. Instead of the weather, Startorch Academy residents complained about deadlines and their unfinished theses, and the Roya Tribe herded their soliskins and continued on with tradition as normal.

But every now and then, a chill came that was just a little harder to ignore for certain people.

Denia was not one of those people, she quite liked it in fact.

She didn't say so, of course. There were limits to how much smugness even a snow leopard could survive in public, but contrary to some of her peers, the cold sat comfortably in her bones. It sharpened the air, softened the noise, and made every rooftop, balcony, and open walkway feel a little more freeing. Her ears barely twitched when a draft slipped into the classroom. Her tail, thick and heavy with spotted fur, moved lazily behind her instead of tucking close. The bite of the cold made her feel just a little more awake and energised.

Everyone else, however, seemed to take the weather personally.

Lynae, like Denia, seemed to take the chill as an excuse to be more energetic rather than less. Her golden retriever ears perked up whenever a draft made half the corridor complain and her tail wagged without worries as she came up with another modification idea for her bike. Chisa had spent the days pretending not to care, but her slick black tail made sure to betray her by winding tightly around her own ankle whenever the wind grazed her even slightly.

Even teachers had started to arrive to class with an extra layer or two, steamed drinks in their hands and an irritability which could only be blamed on the weather. Even Dr. Herssen had made a few comments telling lesser fortunate students to bundle up and take extra care, which caused the popular debate of figuring out what he was to resurface yet again as he seemed unfazed by the weather as well.

Denia teased her friends over the temperature and watched with a faint sense of private amusement.

It was fine until Sigrika went quiet.

It was a different type of silence than the one she would give when she was focused, or reading the room. It made Denia uncomfortable.

She watched Sigrika sit there with a tablet in her lap and a fragment of etched material in her palm, utterly devoid of life except for those slow and barely noticeable movements of her thumb over its grooves. Realistically it made sense, Sigrika was simply focused or concentrating on an assignment or something that seemed to have caught her interest, but still, Denia couldn't shake that this time it felt different.

This silence didn't feel like focused attention, it was an absence.

She chalked the behaviour up to exhaustion. Sigrika had a habit of agreeing to help people before checking if there were enough hours in the day for her to even consider it. Someone needed help with their rune studies? Sigrika was there. A younger and newer student got lost trying to find their class? Sigrika would walk them all the way across campus and then still apologise for being late to whatever she was doing beforehand or what she was scheduled to do next.

It was ridiculous, and frustrated Denia to no end, but it was still very much Sigrika.

So when she began missing pieces of conversation, Denia assumed the obvious. When Sigrika laughed half a beat late at a joke Lynae had made, Denia decided she must have stayed up reading again. When her enthused answers and bright smiles thinned into softer hums and small smiles, Denia told herself maybe Sigrika was simply tired of people?

Everyone got tired of people eventually. Surely Sigrika had to as well, right? But she knew deep down that that was just not like Siggy at all.

This time the cold was lasting. One day became two, two became three, and as a week passed, the academy settled into daily complaints, and Sigrika did not recover.

By the fourth morning, Denia had stopped finding the weather funny, and even though it was comforting usually, she couldn't shake the bothered feeling that was crawling over every inch of her skin.

She watched Sigrika from the edge of a lecture hall while Professor Mornye moved through a complicated explanation of ancient Royan settlement patterns. Professor Mornye's soft voice usually had a way of coaxing even the most restless students into listening. Her floppy bunny ears made her look gentle at a glance, but everyone at Startorch knew better than to mistake gentleness for softeness of the mind. Her classes were intense, packed with detail and the kind of questions that made students sit upright out of sheer self-preservation.

Denia, who had once built an entire philosophy around napping through things that didn't immediately threaten her, respected that, but today it seemed even Mornye's class couldn't seem to hold Sigrika's attention properly.

She sat two rows ahead, shoulders neatly squared, pen in hand, expression arranged into attentiveness. From behind she looked almost normal. Her pale hair fell neatly over her back, ginger warmth catching in it where the light reached. Her elf-like ears were visible and slightly droopy, and it seemed like her horns had lost the subtle sheen that covered them as well. Even her tail, marked with scales and fur to match her hair, rested unusually close to her chair leg.

Too close. Denia stared at it for an unnecesarily long time.

Sigrika's tail was as expressive as her ears. It swayed when she was excited, flicked when she was thinking, and lifted slightly when she had an answer she was trying not to blurt out. It was cute, and Denia would usually love to tease her for it, but today it had barely moved at all.

Sigrika's pen stopped moving, Mornye asked a question, three students shifted in panic, yet Sigrika blinked as if she had been called back from somewhere far away.

'Not tired…' she thought, then corrected herself almost immediately. 'No, tired. Obviously tired. What else would it be?'

Sigrika lifted her head, smiled, and gave an answer that sounded right enough to satisfy the room. Mornye nodded, and the lecture moved on.

Denia did not. Denia sacrificed what she would have considered a perfect time to nap to study and figure out what was going on with her girlfriend, because it was one thing for her to be tired, but it was a whole other thing for her to pretend so hard that she wasn't.

By lunch, Startorch Academy had become a gathering place for every complaint in Lahai-Roi.

The dining hall, or better known as the culinary station, was crowded, loud, and warmer than the cold outdoors. Students huddled up, sitting shoulder to shoulder as they savoured the steam from bowls and cups held close in both hands. Those similar to Lynae and Denia complained that it was too stuffy, but were quickly shut down for even having the audacity to mention it.

So when they both arrived, Denia managed to snag a table that was comfortable and not overly crowded whilst Sigrika went to grab her own tray. It was only then that Lynae appeared; golden fluffy tail wagging enthusiastically behind her.

          "There you are!" Lynae exclaimed, dropping into the seat opposite Denia. Her ears dipped as she glanced around. "I thought you would be avoiding the dining hall today."

          "Tempting," Denia retorted, "But Siggy gets fussy if I skip lunch."

Lynae smiled and looked around, "Speaking of, where is she?"

          "She's just coming."

          "She's been quiet today." Lynae commented, her chin resting in her palm.

Denia picked up her spoon. "She's probably just distracted."

          "You know that's not what I mean."

          "Yeah, I know." Denia sighed, it had been bothering her to no end that she didn't have an answer for it either.

Lynae's ears perked up as she made eye contact, "You noticed it too then?"

Denia looked down at her food. "Of course I did, I'm not blind."

Lynae didn't comment, she just looked at Denia with this look that made her want to look away. That was the trouble with golden retriever-types, Denia thought. They had the terrible habit of making concern look honest, with no angles, no cover, just warmth shoved in your face until you accept it or felt cruel for refusing.

Before Lynae could actually say anything though, Sigrika appeared with Chisa at her side.

Sigrika was smiling.

Denia hated it. It wasn't right. It made her feel worse.

          "Sorry," Sigrika started, sliding into the seat beside Denia, "I thought I'd be quick, but then I saw they had some new dishes added to the menu so I couldn't decide what to get…"

Chisa sat beside Lynae, huddled up close since she just seemed to radiate warmth. "You stared at the stew for a full minute before choosing it."

          "It reminds me of home!" Sigrika defended, hands curling around the warm bowl. "Mother used to make something like this when it got especially cold."

          "Hmm," Chisa's eyes narrowed and her tail flicked once, "I understand that… especially since it's family."

Sigrika smiled a little brighter at that.

Lynae's face also brightened with relief because Sigrika sounded a lot more like herself, or at least close enough. Denia could still hear the difference though, her voice had the same shape as usual but there was something missing. Even though she had barely touched the tray of food in front of her, Denia just didn't seem to have an appetite.

Lynae leaned forward, her ears drooping a bit. "You're sure you're okay? You've been kinda quiet today."

          "Oh! I'm alright—really! Just a bit tired, that's all. You don't have to worry about me…" Sigrika tried to give a reassuring smile, but with three pairs of eyes boring into her, it did little to help.

          "For you," Chisa started, "quiet's a symptom."

Sigrika pressed a hand over her heart, wounded in the gentlest of ways. "A symptom! Honestly, the both of you… can't I just be a little tired?"

          "Three of us." Denia interjected. She hadn't even meant to, the words simply slipped out before she could stop herself.

Sigrika turned to her, and for a moment, something flickered through her expression: surprise, then warmth, then something incomprehensible. "Nia, you're supposed to be on my side."

          "And I am."

          "That didn't sound very much like my side, you know."

Sigrika had a pout on her lips and for a moment she looked fine, and back to herself. Denia could feel the way it made her even just a bit relieved to see.

          "I'm on the side that thinks you should eat before the soup freezes."

          "It won't freeze!"

          "Well, with the way everyone's acting, I'm sure someone will claim it did by the end of lunch."

That coaxed a small laugh from Sigrika. Enough to make Denia smile and take a momentary break from having her anxiety build over what on earth was causing Sigrika to act so out of character.

Across the table, Chisa said little, but her gaze settled on Sigrika a moment longer than necessary before focusing on Denia.

They ate. Or, more accurately, Lynae ate whilst trying her hardest to keep conversation alive, Chisa ate while pretending she wasn't analysing the lion and snow leopard, Denia pushed her food around her place mindlessly, and Sigrika held her warm cup in both hands like her life depended on it once she finished eating her meal.

Lynae told them about a practical exam someone took that had gone haywire when banned modifcations were brought in accidentally, and Chisa commented how, despite the commotion, Lynae still approached the student afterwards to ask for the specifics on what they did. Sigrika listened, attentively, a small sound of amusement slipping past her lips every now and then. She went to speak a handful of times, but ended up shutting her mouth before anything could come out.

Denia could feel her ears flatten against her head.

It was only a few minutes later, Lynae checked the time and shot up from her seat. "Crap! I promised to meet someone before the next class. I completely forgot." She facepalmed.

          "You always forget." Chisa poked fun, standing as well.

          "Which is why you always remind me right before it's too late!"

          "Panicking can build character."

Lynae made a wounded gasp, but laughed nonetheless before turning to glance back at Sigrika.

          "Rest if you can, okay?"

          "I will," Sigrika reassured with a smile.

          "Actual rest." Chisa's eyes narrowed.

          "Of course, actual rest! I understand, I promise."

Lynae put a hand on Denia's shoulder, "Make sure she means it!" Before she zoomed out of sight, dragging Chisa alongside with her.

Denia rolled her eyes but still smiled regardless. Honestly, what do they take her for? Of course she's going to make sure Siggy gets some proper rest.

Sigrika's smile faded, however. It wasn't dramatic, which is what made it worse, but Denia saw it immediately. Her shoulders drooped by the smallest amount like she'd lost all energy to keep herself upright, her fingers tried to tighten their hold around the cup, and her tail tucked in so close it looked almost physically impossible. To make matters worse, she seemed to just be staring endlessly into the cup as well.

Denia set her spoon down.

          "Sigrika."

Nothing, no response.

          "Siggy."

          "Hm?" Sigrika lifted her head. "What's wrong, Nia?"

Sigrika tilted her head and looked at her with such genuine concern it made Denia's heart throb for a second.

          "If you keep pretending you're fine, you're going to make it worse."

The words came out sharper than she meant them to. Sigrika blinked.

Denia regretted it instantly, but refused to show it. That was one of her worse habits, but it didn't change the fact that she did it.

But nevertheless, Sigrika gave her a small smile. "That sounded almost like concern."

          "Don't get used to it."

Sigrika's smile was gentle, but tired at the edges. "I don't want you worrying, Nia. I'm just a bit tired—"

          "Don't." Denia's voice held no room for argument. "Not with me."

The smile dimmed.

          "You haven't been yourself, Siggy… You've been slower to respond, you don't laugh as easily and you've been holding that cup like someone's going to take it away from you."

Sigrika looked down at the cup in her hands.

          "And," Denia continued, quieter now, "you've been like this for days."

Sigrika did not answer.

The dining hall noise filled the space between them: cutlery, conversation, and the scrape of chairs became louder than before.

She should have been gentler, but she didn't know how when worry was clawing at her throat.

          "I'm fine," Sigrika said at last.

Denia's tail flicked once behind her. "No."

Sigrika lifted her eyes to look at her.

          "No," Denia repeated. "You're not fine, Siggy."

She stared at Denia for a moment, and in the quiet between them, what remained was not exactly fear. It was confusion, frustration, and a tired kind of embarrassment.

          "I don't know what's wrong…" Sigrika admitted.

Denia didn't comment.

Sigrika looked back down at her cup, thumb tracing the rim. "I sleep and still wake up tired. I keep thinking rest will fix it, but then it doesn't and people keep thinking rest will fix it, but then it doesn't and everyone keeps asking if I'm alright, and I don't want them to worry because there isn't anything to tell them." She swallowed. "I don't know what answer I'm supposed to give, Nia."

Denia noticeably shifted from something sharp, to something gentle.

          "Oh," she said, uselessly.

Sigrika huffed a tiny laugh. "That bad?"

          "No."

          "Nia."

Denia looked at her. Sigrika's expression was open in a way that made Denia ache. She was not hiding it, she was just tired and didn't know why, and Denia had just scolded her for a mystery neither of them understood.

She wanted to reach for Sigrika's hand, but she didn't. Not when Sigrika was looking at her like that.

Before she could find words that did not sound like an accusation, Sigrika's waveline chimed.

Sigrika glanced at it and winced. "Oh right. Professor Mornye."

Denia's eyes narrowed. "What about Professor Mornye?"

          "I promised I would help sort some reference materials after lunch." Sigrika had already started gathering herself, expression smoothing into something brighter and more functional. "It shouldn't take long."

          "Sigrika."

          "I know," she said quickly. "But I offered, and Professor Mornye needs them for tomorrow's class."

          "You can tell her you're not feeling well."

          "I don't know if I'm feeling unwell."

Denia stared at her.

Sigrika's mouth curved, apologetic and stubborn. "That sounded a little better in my head."

          "It didn't."

          "I'll be careful."

          "That means nothing, Sigrika."

          "It means I'll be careful."

Denia exhaled through her nose. She wanted to argue. She wanted to tell Sigrika that helping a professor while she could barely keep herself upright was absurd, that promises were not meant to be traps, that if Mornye was half as perfect as she had always claimed, she would rather Sigrika rest.

But Denia didn't know what was wrong, and without that, all she had was worry. Worry and unpleasant knowledge that pushing too hard might only make Sigrika's smile slip away faster.

So she let her go.

Sigrika stood, steady enough at a glance. "I'll come find you after?"

Denia looked at the tray instead of her face. "If you don't collapse into a pile of heroic stupidity first."

There was a pause.

Then Sigrika's fingers bruhed lightly against Denia's sleeve, just once.

          "I'll come find you," she said again, softer.

Denia nodded.

Sigrika left the table with her tray to return it, and disappeared into the crowd.

It took only a minute for Denia to realise she hated being alone in the dining hall. So she stood, returned her own tray and stepped out in search for the nearest distraction.

The open air met her the moment she cleared the entrance, bright and biting beneath the Helios. She turned toward the Arcade without much thought; somewhere busy enough to keep her from thinking too hard was as good a destination as any. And when she breathed in the cold, she felt steadier for it.

She hadn't walked far when she spotted them up ahead — Rover and Aemeath, coming the other way from the direction of the Archive. Rover walked with the hunched, tense posture of someone personally offended by the atmosphere. Her hair fell around her face, and her ears pinned low against the wind that came across the open wind. Aemeath on the other hand strolled beside her, looking entirely too comfortable, tail bushy as it swayed behind her, ears perked up, and cheeks lively with the kind of ease only the cold-adapted shifters could afford.

Denia slowed, angling toward them.

She told herself it was because Rover looked like she might say something useful. She ignored the quieter truth, which was that being left alone with her own thoughts gave too much room for worry right now.

She was close enough to hear them before she had decided on how to try enter the conversation.

          "I hate this weather," Rover said. "It gets into everything."

Aemeath laughed. "It's barely cold."

          "Rover's ears flattened further somehow, "That's because you were made for the snow. "

          "And you were made for complaining?"

          "I was made for shade, heat, and not standing about in the wind."

Aemeath's tail swished, delighted. "You're so dramatic."

          "No, I'm realistic."

          "You've been scowling at every gust of wind you've felt."

          "The wind knows what it did." Rover exhaled, and the energy drained out of her all at once. "It's wearing me out! I sleep and I'm still tired. The cold just pulls it right out of me — I've been half-awake on my feet for days."

Aemeath's grin stayed, but it softened slightly. She nudged Rover with an elbow. "You dramatic panther. You could just find somewhere warm and sleep instead of picking fights with the sky." The tease was gentle, and her fox ears had tipped forward with something close to worry. "Come on, let's go."

And Denia stopped.

It was so simple she felt so foolish for not realising it.

Aemeath was comfortable, of course she was. Denia was comfortable too, because they were both made for the cold.

Rover was worn thin. A black panther who sought shade, warmth, and the darker places where heat pooled. Rover had been tired.

And Sigrika—

Sigrika with her scale and fur covered tail tucked close, her hands wrapped around warm cups, her energy dimming as the days passed.

Lions aren't built for the cold. Yeah, Sigrika had draconic features but she was still predominantly a lion.

Denia closed her eyes.

          "Oh," she murmured.

By the time she surfaced from her own thoughts, Rover and Aemeath had closed the last of the distance and drawn up in front of her.

          "Oh?" Rover asked.

Denia opened her eyes. "Nothing."

          "That sounded like something."

          "It was an internal tragedy. Don't worry about it."

Aemeath tilted her head, ears perked up with interest. "Did you solve something?"

Denia looked the way Sigrika had gone, and her chest felt tight. Not panic, not exactly. It felt more like guilt than anything.

          "I think so," she said.

She didn't run after Sigrika.

The impulse was there, but Denia held it back. Sigrika had promised Professor Mornye, and she would probably feel more embarrassed than anything if Denia came bursting in and made a scene of something she only just understood. Sigrika cared about promises, and she cared about being useful. She cared about showing up for people, even when she was tired enough to forget herself in the process.

Denia could drag her away, or she could wait. For Sigrika, waiting was probably kinder.

So she excused herself from her company and found a quiet spot before opening her Waveline. For a moment she simply stared at Sigrika's name.

          'Siggy.'

Denia typed, deleted, and typed again.

          'You're cold.'

She stared at it, but it just didn't look right.

          'I figured it out. I'll wait for you'— No, too certain.

          'Don't overdo it. Come find me when you're finished.'

Too much like an order, and Sigrika would probably smile at it instead of understanding what she meant. So she pressed her thumb against the edge of the device and tried again.

          'I'll wait for you. Come find me when you're finished.'

She hesitated, then added:

          'Please.'

The response came a minute later.

          'Thank you Nia. I won't be long!' Followed by a cute little sun symbol and hearts.

Denia stared at it until the screen dimmed.

Now she simply has to wait. Which she hated, but she would do it for Sigrika.

She found a place outside the classroom Professor Mornye had been using that was out of the way. Students passed. A few glanced at her and thought better of speaking. Denia crossed her arms, uncrossed them, and let her tail wrap loosely around her own ankle.

She replayed the last few days in her head and disliked each one more than the last.

She wasn't sure how long had passed before a door opened nearby.

Denia straightened before she meant to, and Sigrika stepped out with a stack of empty folders hugged to her chest. Professor Mornye's soft voice followed her from inside, thanking her and reminding her, gently but still firm, to rest if she needed it. Sigrika promised she would, and the promises sounded a little more sincere this time.

Then she turned, saw Denia and her expression changed immediately. It wasn't brighter, nor performative, but it softened at first before warming.

          "Nia," she said. "You waited."

          "I said I would."

          "I know." Sigrika's smile wavered into something smaller. "Still."

Denia looked at the folders. "Are you finished now?"

          "Mhmm. Professor Mornye said the rest can wait until tomorrow."

          "Smart Professor."

          "She usually is." Sigrika teased.

Denia stepped closer. She could see the tiredness again now that Sigrika wasn't trying to cover it. The slight heaviness around her eyes. The way her shoulders wanted to drop, and the careful way she held herself, as if any sudden movement might show just how much effort standing actually was.

This time, despite her worry, Denia kept her voice gentle.

          "Can we go back to your room together?"

Sigrika blinked.

Denia didn't look away, although it would have been easier if it did. She could have made it sound like a demand or something practical. Your room. Now. Before you freeze in the hallway and make everyone else deal with you. That would have been safer.

But Sigrika was looking at her, with exhaustion and trust dripping from her gaze.

So she reached out, and interlinked their arms, and her tail gave one betraying sway behind her.

          "You don't have to keep pretending out here," She assured.

Sigrika smiled, gratefully. "Okay."

They walked slowly. Denia kept herself between Sigrika and the worst of the drafts without mentioning, but Sigrika noticed anyway, because of course she would.

          "You're blocking the wind," Sigrika noted.

          "In a very specific place."

          "Strange how walking works." This time it was Denia's turn to tease.

Sigrika laughed softly, and even thought it was noticeably tired, it was more real than before.

          "Siggy."

Sigrika turned to face her. "Hm?"

          "I think I know why you've been feeling like this."

The words made Sigrika slow, but she didn't stop moving. "You do?"

Denia nodded. "The temperature."

          "The temperature?"

          "It's been cold for days."

          "It has."

Sigrika was quiet.

Denia continued. "You're a lion."

Then Sigrika stopped, stared at nothing for a full second before her eyes widened with the pure, startled relief of a riddle solved at last.

          "Oh!" She started. "Of course! That makes perfect sense."

Denia looked at her, and Sigrika pressed a hand to her own forehead, almost laughing. "The cold! It's the cold. I kept think I was sleeping badly, or maybe I was getting sick, or maybe I just needed to try harder, but—oh, Nia, of course it's the cold!"

Seeing the relief wash over Sigrika made something in Denia ease but hurt at the same time.

          "You thought you needed to try harder?"

Sigrika's hand lowered.

Denia's voice stayed quiet. "You were barely keeping up, and you thought the answer was to try harder?"

Sigrika looked at her, and guilt flickered across her face. "I didn't want everyone to worry."

          "I was already worrying."

          "I know."

          "No, you don't." Denia swallowed. "I was worrying. Stupidly. I thought you were overworking yourself, or hiding something, or refusing to rest because you're impossible."

Sigrika's mouth curved slightly. "I am a little impossible."

          "Not the point."

          "Right, sorry."

Denia tightened her arm around Sigrika's slightly. "You don't have to earn rest by collapsing first."

The words came out soft, and Sigrika looked her for a long momen before leaning a little closer into her side.

          "Okay," she said. "I'll remember."

          "You'd better."

          "I will."

          "You always say that."

          "This time I even know why." Sigrika's smile turned sheepish. "The great mystery of the week, solved. Lions get cold."

          "That was the mystery?" Denia teased.

Sigrika nodded with great seriousness. "And a very difficult one too, apparently!"

Denia's mouth twitched despite herself, and Sigrika's smile brightened. Only faltering when another draft slipped through the corridor. Her tail tucked closer, and Denia felt the shiver through their linked arms.

The amusement was there, along with relief and ever present concern.

          "Come on," Denia said.

And Sigrika let herself be guided.

By the time they reached Sigrika's room, the tiredness had settled over her again. The walk hadn't been long at all, but now that she was no longer pretending, each step seemed to ask more of her. Denia opened the door and ushered her inside with one hand at her elbow.

Sigrika's room was warmer, though not warm enough for Denia's liking. The walls curved gently around them, smooth and pale, washed in a cool, blue-green glow that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. Soft light tracing the floor, the faint shimmer of it pooling like water across the curved ceiling. A tall, round window framed the dim outside, its curtains drawn back, and the bed sat tucked into a raised alcove above the main floor, half-cocooned and heaped with cushions.

It carried the soft chaos of someone who cared deeply about many things and yet only sometimes remembered where she had put them. Shelves along one wall were crowded with small treasures — polished shells, a row of little figures, trinkets arranged with far more affection than order. Notes and a few rune sketches were pinned near the desk in clusters that grew less tidy the closer they crept towards the bed. Deep blue blooms spilled from stands in the corners, and a star-scattered rug softened the floor at the center of the room. Near the shelf, a jar of Fruit Crackle sat wrapped carefully, as if it had travelled a long way and deserved the respect for it.

It was completely and utterly Sigrika.

Bright even when dim, full of little meanings, and warmth gathered in objects instead of declarations.

Denia shut the door behind them.

          "Bed," she said.

Sigrika looked over. "Already?"

          "Yes."

          "I should probably put these folders—"

          "Get into bed."

Sigrika's lips parted, perhaps to argue. Then she seemed to think better of it before setting the folders on the desk.

Denia moved through the room before she found the panel by the door that governed the room's warmth and frowned — it had been set to run cool. That earned Sigrika a look over the shoulder.

Sigrika winced. "In my defence, I know you like it cold."

Denia scowled.

          "In your prosecution," she started, "you're the one who has to sleep here."

So Denia turned the heat up, drew the curtains, and began searching for blankets.

          "You don't have to do this…" Sigrika said.

          "I know, Siggy."

          "Nia…"

          "I want to."

And they both went quiet.

Denia kept her back turned for a moment longer than necessary, folding a blanket she had found over her arm. And when she turned, Sigrika was watching her from the bed.

There was no teasing in her face now. Only softness.

Denia crossed the room and held out the blanket. "Get in."

Sigrika accepted it, but her smile returned faintly. "You're fussing."

          "I'm preventing you from falling asleep upright."

          "That sounds awfully like fussing."

          "Efficient fussing then."

It was a short while before any of them said anything further as Denia climbed the side to sit on the edge of Sigrika's bed.

          "Cold but soft," Sigrika murmured.

Denia paused. "What?"

Sigrika blinked, then looked a little embarrassed. "Sorry. It just came out."

Denia stared at her for a second before shifting the bedcovers. "You're definitely going to sleep."

Sigrika laughed under her breath.

Denia helped her settle in, though help mostly meant sitting to the side and helping her shift the bedcovers so Sigrika could slip underneath with a small sigh that seemed to leave her whole body feeling lighter. Her tail curled beside her, scales shimmering as she moved to lay on her side. Denia added the extra blankets over her legs, then another one over her shoulders, careful to mind the horns as well.

          "Too much?" Denia asked.

Sigrika shook her head. "No, it's nice…"

Denia adjusted the edge of the blanket. "Your hands are still cold."

          "They'll warm up."

Denia didn't like how automatic the answer was. Instead of arguing, she folded both of her hands around Sigrika's and held on, chafing slow warmth back into her fingers. "And if you tell me you're fine again, I'm going to assume the cold froze your common sense."

Sigrika's fingers curled into hers. "I won't."

          "Good, that's more like it."

          "Nia?"

Denia looked Sigrika in the eyes. Her expression had gone quiet. The brightness was still there, but muted now, like sunlight behind a cloud. She was warm enough to stop masking, and tired enough to not hide that she wanted something.

          "Can you stay with me for a while?"

Denia's breath caught.

It was such a simple request, and Sigrika had asked so softly, without demand, without trying to make it easier for Denia to refuse. So Denia looked at Sigrika's hands still folded between her own, then the blankets, then the small space beside her.

          "I can stay," she said.

And Sigrika's shoulder relaxed visibly.

Denia got herself a little more comfortable on the edge of the mattress, leaving more space than she wanted to. Her tail settled beside her, thick and heavy, the spotted fur impossibly fluffy. She became aware of it at the same moment Sigrika did.

Sigrika's eyes flicked down.

Then away.

Then back again.

Denia pretended not to notice.

A minute passed in a quiet that was warmer than the hallways, warmer than the culinary station, and warmer than the weather had allowed for the past for the past few days. Sigrika lay still beneath the blankets, warm at last. Denia listened to the faint sounds of the academy beyond the door and the softer sound of Sigrika's breathing begining to even out.

Then Sigrika spoke.

          "Nia…"

Denia turned her head to face her. "Hm?"

Sigrika's cheeks had dusted themselves pink. Whether it was from the warmth of the room, tiredness, or the question she had not asked yet, Denia couldn't tell.

          "Your tail is so soft…" Sigrika's voice trailed, careful and quieter than before. "Could I touch it?"

Denia went rigid, but her tail twitched once, betraying her instantly.

Sigrika's eyes widened. "You can say no!"

          "I know."

          "I won't be upset, I promise."

          "I know."

          "I just thought—because it looks so warm, and so much fluffier than mine, and because you're here, and maybe—" Sigrika stopped herself before smilingly sheepishly. "Am I being too much?"

Denia's ears angled back and for a moment she didn't know what to say at all. Not because she wanted to refuse, but because the softness of the request had slipped straight past her defences. Sigrika had asked instead of assumed, treating it so delicately that Denia almost wanted to give her anything if she so much as hinted at it.

She looked away, a blush dusting her cheeks this time.

          "Just… be careful."

Sigrika's face lit up instantly. "Always."

With that, Denia shifted, easing down to lie next to her. Close, but not quite close enough to touch, before she let her tail move within Sigrika's reach. The movement felt more intimate than it had any right to. Her tail was only a tail. It had brushed against chairs, doorframes, strangers in crowded hallways. It had been stepped on twice in one week by first-years who had not yet learned the concept of spatial awareness. It was not as if it was inherently special by any means.

But this was Sigrika.

And Sigrika reached with both hands and gathered the fur carefully, reverently, as if Denia had handed her a blessing instead of an appendage. She drew it against her chest and tucked her cheek into it with a sigh so relieved that Denia's heart twisted.

          "Oh," Sigrika whispered. "That's so warm…"

Denia stared very hard at the otherside of the room.

Sigrika cuddled the tail closer. Her fingers sank lightly into the thick fur, not pulling, never pulling. The tension in her shoulders eased, and her eyes drifted half shut.

Then, so softly Denia almost missed it, Sigrika began to purr.

Denia's face flushed warm, and she resisted the urge to bury her head in her hands.

Sigrika did not notice at first, or perhaps she did and gave Denia time. She rested with her tail against her cheek, breathing slow, purr rumbling in her chest. The sound should have relieved Denia, and really it did, for the first time in days in fact. Sigrika sounded comfortable, warm, and for the first time in a week, present.

But the relief carried something else with it.

A small, ugly fear Denia wished she didn't recognise.

Sigrika was so content holding her tail. Of course she was. It was soft. Warm. Useful. Easy to want. Denia was less easy.

Denia was sharp sarcastic comments in dining halls and bad thoughts at midnight. Denia was careful because she had to be. Denia was someone who looked at Sigrika's kindness and wondered how long it would take the world to punish her for accepting it. Denia was someone who has no idea what to do with being loved except fear that she had stolen something meant for better hands.

Sigrika's fingers moved gently through the fur, and Denia's throat tightened.

          "Nia?" Sigrika asked.

Denia closed her eyes briefly. "Do you prefer it?"

The purring stopped.

          "Prefer what?"

          "My tail."

The small area of her bed somehow seemed even smaller.

She refused to turn and face her. Her voice came out quiet, and stripped of every joke and teasing comment she might have used if this mattered a little less.

          "Over me."

Sigrika didn't answer immediately, and Denia wished she hadn't said anything at all. No, that's not true, she wished she never needed to say it. There was a difference, and that difference is what hurt the most.

It was then that the blankets shifted.

Sigrika loosened one arm from Denia's tail. "Nia."

Denia shook her head quickly. "It's stupid."

          "It isn't."

          "It is."

          "No, it isn't," Sigrika said again, soft but certain.

Denia's folded her arms into herself. "You looked so happy."

          "I was."

          "I know…"

          "Because it's yours, Nia."

Denia's breath caught in her throat.

Sigrika shifted closer, closing the careful gap she had left until her chest pressed warm against Denia's back, curling around her properly. As she did, the tail slipped free of her hold, and Denia drew it in herself. Letting it curl between her legs and up against her stomach and chest, hugging it the way Sigrika had only moments ago. From behind her, Sigrika reached around Denia's waist and found her hands, giving Denia ample time to pull away if she wanted to. When she didn't, Sigrika's fingers closed gently over hers where they clutched the tail to her chest.

          "I like your tail because its yours," Sigrika said. "If I wanted something soft, I'd ask for another blanket. I asked because it was you."

Denia's eyes stung, which was humiliating and unacceptable and entirely Sigrika's fault.

          "You say things like that too easily…" She whispered.

          "Not at all." Sigrika's thumb brushed over her knucles. "I think I say them because they're true."

Denia still didn't turn around, and Sigrika did not make her. She only leaned in and pressed a small kiss between Denia's shoulder blades — soft, unhurried, and asking for nothing. A quiet thing left against her spine, warm even through the fabric.

Sigrika waited a moment, then tugged very lightly on her hand. Not enough to force anything, but just enough to ask.

          "Nia," she started. "Will your turn over and look at me?"

And even though her ears pressed back flat against her head, she still rolled over. A slow, careful shift onto her other side within the circle of Sigrika's arms, the tail still hugged to her chest between them, only this time she was facing Sigrika directly.

Sigrika's face was close, softened by lamplight and a touch of tiredness. The blankets were gathered around her shoulders, Denia's tail no longer held her attention, for that was entirely on Denia herself.

That was worse. Or was it better?

She couldn't decide.

Sigrika lifted her free hand and touched Denia's cheek with the back of her fingers, feather-light. "I don't want a piece of you instead of you," she said. "I want all of you."

And Denia's expression cracked before she could stop it. Sigrika saw, because of course she saw. Sigrika always saw more than Denia expected, not because Denia was easy to read, but because Sigrika bothered to keep looking even when she asked her not to.

          "I mean it," Sigrika was serious as she spoke. "Soft tail, sarcastic words, quiet worrying. All of it."

Denia let out a small, unsteady breath that might have been a laugh if it had not hurt so much. "You make terrible decisions."

Sigrika beamed. "Maybe. But this one feels really, really good."

The brightness Sigrika radiated, undimmed even by exhaustion, settled over Denia like a comforting blanket.

So she only held her, warm and patient as she waited. Denia hestitated — not because she didn't want to, but because she wanted it far too much — and then let herself give in before fear could hold her back further.

She let herself sink into it, and Sigrika answered by pulling her closer still; one arm curving up along Denia's spine, drawing her in until Denia could burrow into the crook of her neck.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Sigrika's purr returned, softer this time, vibrating through both of them. Denia's tail stayed hugged close between them, held in her own arms now rather than Sigrika's, but it no longer felt separate from her. Sigrika's embrace closed them both — Denia and the tail she carried — carefully, gratefully, as though it was obvious. Which it was.

Denia closed her eyes, and then, without permission, a sound rose within her own chest — low, uneven, yet unmistakeable. A purr she had spent years learning to swallow. It escaped her anyway and tangled with Sigrika's until there was no telling where one ended and the other began.

Outside, Lahai-Roi was still cold. The windows were fogged, students were still complaining, and Rover was probably still getting laughed at by Aemeath over her silly over-reactions.

The cold hadn't gone away, but Sigrika felt warm.

Denia felt the proof of it in the arm around her, the cheek resting near her hair, and the slow return of Sigrika's breathing easing up.

          "Nia?" Sigrika murmured.

Denia hummed.

          "Thank you for taking care of me."

Denia's ears flicked back. "I turned the heat up and moved some blankets. I hardly would call that heroic, Siggy."

          "You noticed before I did." Sigrika's voice stayed soft. "That's the part I mean."

And Denia did not answer right away. The words caught in her throat and the gratitude sat somewhere behind her ribs, too large and far too plain to deflect the way she wanted to.

          "You're supposed to argue with me," She managed.

          "I'm too warm to argue." Sigrika's smile pressed into her hair as she nuzzled further. "And I meant it."

A small curve appeared on Denia's lips. Not just at the words, but at the fact Sigrika shifted just enough to press a gentle kiss upon Denia's forehead.

The touch was soft, simple and it was filled with a tenderness she didn't try to escape.

          "I want you, Nia," Sigrika whispered. "All of you."

Even though her breath caught, Denia didn't pull away.

Sigrika's hand found Denia's where it rested against the tail, and let her fingers thread through until there was no space left between them.

          "I mean it," she murmured, but it still held a firm tone. "Not the parts of you that are easy. Not just the soft tail, or the sarcastic jokes, or the way you pretend not to care when really, you do, a lot. I want all of it, the worrying, the bad thoughts at midnight, and the version of you who thinks she has to earn being loved." Her voice was softer, warmer and comforting. "I want that Denia too. Especially that Denia."

Denia's throat ached. Her eyes stung and then, worse, tears spilled over — warmth slipped loose before she could try hold it back, soaking quietly into the fabric at Sigrika's shoulder. She hated that it showed, and she hated how she didn't wipe it away.

          "Sig—"

          "I love you," Sigrika said it the way she always did, like it was the easiest thing in the world. "You already know that, I just wanted to say it again."

Denia let out a slow breath.

          "I know," she admittedly quietly. Then, quieter still — the thing she found far harder than Sigrika ever did — "I love you too."

Sgrika smiled against her hair once more, positively beaming.

Denia's eyes closed again.

It felt so silly. Here she was trying to help Sigrika feel better because of the cold, and yet, just like always, it seems she's the one comforted instead.

The words didn't fix everything, nor did they erase all her worries, doubts and thoughts. They certainly didn't make her suddenly love herself.

But Sigrika's arms were around her, and her warmth was real. And Denia who had spent so much of her life expecting kindness to vanish the moment she reached out for it, let herself enjoy it for a change.

A long moment passed before Denia spoke up.

          "…It's too warm in here," she mumbled into the curve of Sigrika's neck.

Sigrika's purr hitched around a sleepy laugh. "Do you want me to let go?"

Denia's arms tightened and she shook her head slightly. "No…"

          "Mhm. " Sigrika sounded insufferably pleased with herself. "That's what I thought."

          "It's still too warm."

          "I know."

But Denia did not move, and Sigrika had never felt warmer.