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The day had started off fine, maybe even good, when Sunni had packed a basket of small goods with her and left the grove on horseback, arriving a whole hour early to Ciaran’s newly furnished abode at the Gekspire. She’d loosely tied Sunflower II’s lead on a fencepost outside, her fencepost, – kept even after construction ended, her mind cheerily supplied – and bounded up the front steps.
Sunni can’t help but replay the earnest look of soft surprise on Ciaran’s face when he opened the door to see she had arrived early. Worth it. After being happily welcomed inside, Sunni left the basket resting on the counter, eagerly sitting down on the couch and motioning for Ciaran to join her. He obliged, after putting down some papers he’d been scouring over previously. If her family had seen how quickly she’d decided to make herself feel at home here, she would’ve already been chided.
And so came and went an hour of quiet conversation, far too quickly than either of them would like to admit. They had talked about their days while snacking on some cookies that Sunni had brought with her– of new construction plans in the Gekspire, and of progress made to the Sunlit Grove, and their hope of the sun returning soon, like they always did.
When Sunni again mentioned the whole reason she had come to visit... The mood did not exactly turn sour, but it halted, like a breath held too long underwater. Sunni had decided to go to the Curse temple today, just as she had to the previous three temples. Why should it be any different today? She would be fine. And she would be a part of a big expedition, so again, it would be fine. Yet, Ciaran didn’t seem so convinced, despite wearing a gentle smile and kinder words, it seemed like his eyes held a certain look of uncertainty and worry, something Sunni would need to unpack later.
Well– She wasn’t so blind as to not realize his hesitation. She full-well knew that their latest trip to the Charity temple all but two weeks ago had gone much awry than planned. She still feels guilty about dragging him along, no matter how many soft reassurances he’d offered her and no matter how grateful she herself had been to have an anchor such as him beside her. She feels her hands tremble and pushes the feeling down, putting on a soft smile in its stead.
Suddenly, like a cloud boding rain appearing on the horizon, Sunni is snapped out of her thoughts as she gasps, “The time!”
Ciaran reacts too, and the two of them, after realizing they’d talked away the hour and then some, hurriedly scramble to get ready and prepare for the journey before they run any later. In the chaos of throwing on her gear, Sunni forgets about her basket of goods, but Ciaran takes it in his arms as he follows her out the door. It’s only when they are outside that Sunni realizes that Sunflower and his lead is gone, likely wandered away and snacking on some apples if Sunni were to assume from past experience. That isn’t an ill omen at all. However, like a knight in shining armour, Ciaran offers his own horse Evie II, and to ride together, and everything is fine again and they’re off.
The path to the temple is long and treacherous, near the vicinity of the ship Sunni had arrived with on her first day on the island. The temple was in the shape of a skull, apparently. It didn’t have to mean anything. Sunni hugs Ciaran tighter where she sits behind him on the horse. Sunni watches another horse and rider pass them by, and doesn’t notice the mildly redder hue that Ciaran’s cheeks turns.
And then, they’re there.
Sunni excitedly hops off their trusty steed, quickly supplying a comment about seeing a familiar face uphill and going to say hello, before she’s dashing away in a flurry. It’s only after Ciaran had chuckled and taken the time to securely tie Evie II’s lead to a stubby low-hanging tree branch that he turns around, and notices that Sunni’s trot had slowed to a snail’s pace, until she had stopped dead in her tracks.
Her first few steps had been light as the breeze, easy. Even her heavy backpack filled with odd books and trinkets felt light as a feather. It’s when she’s on her fifteenth, maybe sixteenth, step away from her companion, that an unexplainable and heavy dread pools dangerously at the bottom of her soles and starts to climb its way up, up, up.
Unlike the feeling of butterflies she’d readily grown used to as of late, this feeling is unwelcome and sharp, akin to something inside her very being trying to claw its way out, pleading with her- No, screaming at her, to turn back, turn back, TURN BACK.
She feels a pang behind her eye. Her voice trembles as she verbalizes her anguish into quiet, fragile words that threaten to spill into sobs that won’t even cover half of the fear she feels, “I can’t— I can’t... go in—“
And then the gentlest tap of a warm hand on her shoulder snaps her out of her stupor, and the waves of dread pull back like a shadow torn to shreds by the sun, and yet. She stumbles backwards as if her footing had been lost and her energy drained, in the blink of a moment.
Ciaran seems taken aback by her sudden change in demeanour, his hand that touched her shoulder letting go and falling lower. Then her foot catches, and his arm instinctually goes around her waist to catch her, and the other becomes a perch for which her other hand reaches, panickedly grabbing onto to support herself.
The sound of a basket hitting the ground is heard, a cookie snaps in half. Neither of them notice.
Sunni curls into Ciaran’s side and just breathes for a moment. The sea of nerves ebbs, and leaves but a faint throb.
“Are you– ... –Sunni?” Ciaran asks. She angles her head up, still held close, and notes the obvious concern in his golden eyes. She pushes away slightly, and rights herself.
“Sorry, I...” Sunni’s words trail off as a chill runs through her, “I don’t know what’s gotten over me, but I... I can’t go in. I just can’t.” She looks down as she avoids his gaze, fidgeting with an odd strap on her backpack. Her backpack feels heavy. A quieter, explanatory, “I don’t know why...” also slips out. She feels like sinking into the ground.
Sunni waits for him to question her, to pry into the cage she’s built and to ask for answers she can’t give. She hopes he just lets it pass– accepts it as it is, that she, right here and right now, doesn’t know why a sudden dread so deep and daunting it clung to her like a branch holding on for dear life in a windstorm, had stripped her of her spirits and smile. Her head hurts. She wants to go home.
“Then... Should we head back?” It’s as if Ciaran read her mind.
“Please,” she says, forcing a light laugh to pretend she’s fine. Because she is, she has to be.
Truly, when they take the few paces back to where Evie II is tied up, and Sunni settles on the back of the saddle while Ciaran works at unfastening the lead and then gets up himself, Sunni feels... Well. Good isn’t quite the right word, but she does feel fine.
If fine is the quiet stab of an ache that starts behind her eye and slowly blooms outward like a slow-forming bruise, that is.
She holds onto Ciaran who sits in front, like she always does when they ride like this. It’s becoming a habit, and a welcome one at that. Sunni smiles.
Their conversation is calm. Once Sunni manages to shake herself out of the utter dread she’d just experienced, and for seemingly no reason. She adds a few chipper and silly comments here and there.
“You know, I bet we could make some muffins with raisins.”
A stifled laugh and a, “Yeah?”
“It should be possible! And if I limit the amount of sugar... it might even taste pretty good!”
“I’ll have to bring some more ingredients to my kitchen the next time you visit,” the smile can be heard in his voice, “or we could take a trip to the trading hall together.”
“Mmhmm, and then maybe I could ground up some dye... the edible kind! And we could make them look green too!” She jests. A part of her mind wonders if it’s possible.
“That could be nice,” a pause, then “And what for you? Green muffins– maybe some pink cookies?” He muses.
“Pink cookies! You just say that because it’s my favourite color,” Sunni giggles.
Ciaran raises an eyebrow, “And we should make them out of sunflower seeds, too.”
Sunni laughs until she feels lightheaded and leans closer to him, keeping just a hair’s breadth away. She feels a light ache start up in her head again, but she thinks nothing of it. Their conversation finds its lull, leaving Sunni to think they have reached one of the comfortable silences they’ve both come to enjoy in each other’s presence.
As time goes on, the clip-clop of hooves becomes a steady rhythm under them, occasionally broken by a sharp left or right turn to avoid a stray undead wandering too close to the dark, unmarked path of the jungle.
She thinks her head might be spinning, just a tiny bit, and accidentally bumps it into Ciaran’s shoulder before pulling back and offering a soft “sorry.”
“You okay? Was that last turn too sudden?” Comes quickly after.
“N-No, it’s fine.” Sunni’s head aches a bit more.
Ciaran maneuvers his hands a bit so that one holds the reins, while the other reaches back, palm-up. Sunni takes his hand and gives it a light squeeze. He gives one back. Sunni thinks she hears a whispered “I’m here,” and she feels guilty.
She rushes to change the topic, “I was just thinking too hard about the Sunlit Grove. Hanging up some more lanterns and all...” It’s... Not a lie, exactly. She does think about the grove a lot lately. “I want it to look bright.”
“Like sunlight,” Ciaran fondly supplies.
Sunni hums in agreement, she’s said this maybe a thousand times already, “I just miss the sun so much.”
Up ahead, the unmarked path they’d been following finally leads into cobbled stone and brick, lantern light sitting on the edges of the road and lighting up the area. The undead steer clear.
Sunni stares into a lantern as they pass, and imagines the grove, full of light, laughter, and joy, and smiles. Ciaran says something. Her eyes still linger on the lantern, but something feels... off.
It’s as if another wave of dread is washing over her, and the slow throb that had been building in her skull is back and worse than before. Sunni murmurs something affirmative, but she doesn’t even remember hearing what Ciaran had asked. A slow pressure is building in her head, and she squeezes her eyes shut. When did everything become so bright?
Sunni suddenly feels everything crash like glass breaking, and her shoulders fall like the weights they’d been holding have left her tired to her bones. She can’t help but notice how the lights are too bright– how she feels every trot of the horse– and the pressure in her head is literally killing her.
Her hand holding Ciaran’s squeezes harder instinctually, while her other hand reaches out for his shirt and holds on as another wave of dizziness washes over her. She doesn’t want to fall. She feels the dread morph into a sense of anxiety and the ache in her eyes leaves her taking a labored, sharp breath.
Even with her eyes closed, it feels too bright. Tears prickle at the corners of her eyes.
She’s long stopped responding to the soft questions and conversation Ciaran had been trying to uphold. Her hurt gets the best of her, and she buries her head into the back of shirt. Maybe she can hide from the light like this.
A look of concern has furrowed its way into Ciaran’s brows. He still feels Sunni’s smaller hands dig into his hand and shirt as if they’re holding on for dear life. His questions go unanswered. When did she get so quiet? His worry grows. Where is a safe place we could stop? His mind adds. She’s never been like this before– what happened? He tries to push down the bubbling panic.
It’s only when Ciaran squeezes Sunni’s hand back that something seemingly snaps Sunni out of her haze as she quietly lets out a “Y-your shirt... And your hand... oh, ‘m– ‘m so sorry”. Her words sound heavy and broken, like the very act of saying them is straining.
Sunni’s hand attempts to pull away, but Ciaran doesn’t let it. It’s now a lifeline between them, and deep down he’s scared of what would happen if he lets her pull away when she’s like this– Will she fall? I won’t let her.
Ciaran doesn’t respond. Instead, Sunni hears shuffling. A part of her brain thinks he might be trying to stop the horse, but she’s not sure. Her head really hurts now. She can’t make out a single thought in her clouded mind– it’s as if it’s been stuffed with cotton, like a child’s teddy bear.
As soon as Evie II comes to a halt, Sunni tries squinting her eyes open, thinking they are back already... Slightly peeking past Ciaran’s shoulders– which causes Ciaran’s hand to hold onto hers tighter– she sees the blurry shape of Karyos in the distance. The light overwhelms her senses once more and she squeezes her eyes shut, and she thinks, why did we stop here? This isn’t home... The aching in her head continues, and she feels a heavy sense of vertigo.
The shuffling becomes more decisive and Sunni thinks Ciaran is about to dismount the horse– Why? Is he leaving? We’re not home yet, my head hurts– Please, please don’t leave me, please stay with me– so without thinking, she reaches out and tugs his shirt properly, and a quiet, confused, “...Ciaran?” escapes her before she’s able to form any more cohesive words.
“Sunniva?” oh, that’s my name, Sunni thinks. It’s nice, hearing it said with such affection and concern. Like she’s something precious to be cared for. Must be nice. She can’t respond, and her head lulls forwards.
It seems her words finally reach Ciaran, but her lack of response only makes him hasten getting off the horse. He is, however, especially mindful about ensuring Sunni doesn’t teeter off to the side when he does. Maybe he noticed how off-balance she feels.
A careful hand reaches up to brush hair away from her forehead, and Sunni practically melts into his hand when he presses it towards her face, checking for something. When did my face get so warm?
“So warm,” he sounds concerned. His hand falls lower and she briefly makes a noise of discontent. It rests near her cheeks “open your eyes? Please.”
Sunni obliges, at least as much as she can. Her eyelids slightly open, unfocused, then as some nearby lantern light catches on them, she tries to hide away in his hand. It doesn’t work, and she lets out a pitiful, unhappy noise. “Bring... home, please.” She begs. Her head falls forward again.
A few moments later Ciaran's heart is beating faster in his chest. Head injury, a deep part in his mind supplies, it has to be– but how? This isn’t good, he realizes that. Something is really, really wrong. What can I– What can I do?
But they’re in the middle of nowhere, with nobody around. Ciaran gets back on the horse, but shifts Sunni around so she’s securely sitting in front of him. So he can make sure she doesn’t fall off. The weight in his arms isn’t much at all.
They need to go back. It’s too far.
Sunni’s house– it’s too empty, too unfurnished. Unsafe.
The Gekspire, it’s closer– much closer. There has to be someone that can help her.
Before he even makes the choice himself, Evie II is galloping through the Gekspire tunnels, and Ciaran is hugging Sunni close so she doesn’t tilt too far to the side. She’s lightly curling towards him, resting her head on his chest. The wind whooshes by them, but he can still hear her light breathing, broken by the occasional wince. Oh, how I wish I could take your pain away. He steels his eyes forward.
It’s only when they arrive at the other side of the tunnel, passing by the mossy landscape and the clownhouse, that he realizes how fully and utterly barren the streets are. It’s too quiet. His heart catches in his throat.
Oh shit.
Everyone went to the Curse temple– The medics, almost everyone, they’re there. He wants to hit himself for forgetting.
He has half a mind to turn Evie II around right this moment and ride back to the temple in hopes of catching a medic and pleading with them to help. He remembers Sunni, her wincing every time the horse makes a slightly sharper turn than expected or the road is bumpy, and hiding away from the light. It’s too far. The nagging feeling of I need to help her doesn’t fade, but before he knows it, Evie II has already ridden them to the front of his house.
On a whim, Ciaran gets off the horse and reaches a hand out to Sunni, carefully guiding her legs so she too can get off. She stands, but it’s unsteady. Her hand doesn’t let go of his.
Sunni leans into his side as she’s guided towards his front steps. She notices a familiar horse in the distance and loopily giggles, mentioning something about Sunflower, and nibbling on some apples, like always. Ciaran’s mind is elsewhere, but he fondly smiles and guides her along.
When they get to the steps, Sunni takes one bleary-eyed look at the stairs and instead attempts to sit down on the mossy ground outside. Ciaran lets out a slight, disbelieving chuckle upon realizing she won’t be making it up the steps herself.
So, like magic, he somehow persuades her to lean on his back just long enough to give her a short piggy-back ride up the steps. As they approach the door to his house, he uses his foot to push it open.
It’s not until they pass the entrance and the door lightly clicks behind them, that the predicament they’re in settles into the forefront of his mind once more.
Sunni lets her head rest against Ciaran’s back, but the throbbing in her mind doesn’t ease, no matter how much she wishes she could appreciate this moment, this closeness.
She... doesn’t really even know where she is anymore. The aching left her confused and dizzied, no matter the care Ciaran has taken to be steady on his feet. She wants to make the hurt go away. She really wants to lie down.
She musters some words she hopes are understandable, “Ci... ran... bed?”
The target of her quiet words seems to understand, yet still lets out a sigh, as if he’s realized something truly unfortunate, muttering something about “I can’t carry her up ladders like this. Why didn’t I add a staircase?” and turning around.
He leads them to his conversational pit. As he helps Sunni down on one of the couches, he takes note of the pained look on her face. Her brow is scrunched and her hands are reaching up to her head and attempting to shield them from the low lights in the living room–
Ciaran snaps back, and starts going around, dimming the candles and lanterns closest to the couch, then hurries upstairs. Sunni hears some rustling and feels a chill pass over her. She wishes she had a blanket right now. She hugs herself.
Lying down in the quiet of Ciaran’s living room, Sunni feels some of the cotton in her limbs and head clear, but the pressure doesn’t lessen. A thought pops into her head: Why is this happening? What is happening? Did this start when I approached the Curse tem– A deeper pressure veils her head and she lets out a sob. She never liked pain.
Her memory catches on a note she’d seen scribbled in a notebook once, years ago, when things were... easier. “Concussion–” Her mind quickly supplies. That is, Sunni thinks, that’s what’s wrong with her. How it occurred, though, is a mystery to her. Some rest should make it all better, right?
And yet her mind keeps wandering in spite of the pain. Why did she feel such strong fear, such uncontested dread that she could not even muster a single more step towards the skull-shaped temple? Even with Ciaran by her side– That thought makes her trail off.
Ciaran.
Oh. He’d seen her so weak and frail, hadn’t he? With this inexplicable ache in her head and aversion to light, the dizziness... that she wouldn’t even will herself to mention or explain. Couldn’t. Her head had hurt too badly– is still hurting. Her tongue had tied itself and she couldn’t get any words out...
That’s twice now. Twice, that he’s seen her so utterly helpless and broken. Her visage ruined, her usually cheery smile twisted into a sob or agony. She wishes to have never shown him this weak, small side of her– that she had kept smiling. No. No. That’s a lie– that’s a big, fat, lie, and she’s sure of it. She’s never regretted being open with him. Ciaran, he’s– He’s different. She wants to open up, to tell him of all the little things that make her, her. She just wishes... she could focus on the things that make them happy, instead. To let him find comfort beside her like a warm flame, to find new joys, together. But even fires face rain, do they not?
The guilt pools inside her. And he’d been so kind, despite all of it. Something in her heart aches, and she wonders for a moment if the hurt from her head has spread. Deep down, she knows this is something different. She forces open her eyes and a single tear slips past her eyelashes and runs down her cheek. She looks longingly towards the ladders upstairs, I hope he comes back soon, she thinks.
When Ciaran went up the ladders, he had beelined to his bedroom, carefully unfastening the hanging banners he and Sunni had hung up there just a week earlier. He had shown her his room, rather proud of his singular bed poised in the corner and torch placed beside it, thinking Sunni would enjoy the view from his stained glass windows.
Instead, she had exclaimed that he couldn’t possibly live like this! And all was forgotten as she dug up some comfortable materials from her bag and started eagerly decorating his room in all sorts of hanging materials and colors. He couldn’t help but agree, having watched her happily flit around and decorate, every now and then asking him to help decorate his own bedroom in the places that were too tall for her to reach. Now, his bedroom feels warm and welcoming.
He adds some pillows and green bed quilts to the pile.
It’s only when Ciaran’s foot leaves the last rung of the ladder and he turns around that he spots two purple eyes looking his way. He pauses.
He wants to say something, that everything will be okay. The words catch in his throat.
A quiet, content sigh leaves Sunni, like some pressure had been eased for her upon his return, and her eyes close once more. He’s back, he’s here, he didn’t leave me.
He feels his grip slip, and he hoists up the banners and blankets once more, and shuffles over. He puts everything on the couch, then moves to quickly fasten some rope and banners at the opening of where Sunni is lying down.
Ciaran almost gets lost in the quiet, rhythmically tying corners of banners to rope. He glances over and sees Sunni evenly breathing, yet her brow is still furrowed. It’s too quiet. Far too quiet. His heart starts beating faster again.
He steps into the little blanket-shielded nook after finishing hanging up the last make-shift curtain, leaving a slight parting so his eyes need less adjusting to the low light. He grabs a quilt and reaches to cover Sunni with it, a pillow ready in his other hand. He’s about to apologize for the delay, and prepared to face a quiet, “don’t be sorry,” and a jesting nudge.
And then suddenly Ciaran’s legs feel weak. He crouches, to be closer to her.
For some reason he feels the want to hear her breath, to hear her heart beat. Is this why she leaned in so close– why she had asked to listen to his heart previously? Tapped her fingers on his shoulder as she did so, a silly little habit he’s been discovering she had as they kept growing closer?
Sunni shouldn’t look like this.
Ciaran’s panicking. He needs to get help. He looks at Sunni, “I– I should go back to the temple, get some help for you–”
She’s probably asleep, it’s fine, he should just go. He starts getting up. The sooner he gets there, the sooner he can get help for her, and then–
He feels a tug at his sleeve. He hesitates, but he looks back.
Sunni’s gives the sleeve another tug, “...Ciaran” she starts, and her eyes squint open, “...stay with me. Please?”
Her hand feels heavy, and she’s about to let go of his sleeve when he catches her hand in his, holding it gently.
The fight leaves Ciaran, and he finally sits down on the floor. He maneuvers Sunni’s hand to where two of his fingers press just below her palm. She hums.
Ciaran’s head and shoulders drop a bit, and his eyes stare at her hand in his.
It’s quiet, for a moment. The comfortable silence has returned, unaccompanied with the pang of fear or hurt either had experienced earlier. It’s just them.
A beat. Two beats. A sigh of relief. Some shuffling, then Sunni’s other hand reaches out, and settles in Ciaran’s hair. It stays there for a few beats longer, lightly patting his head. “So soft,” she says, and a happy giggle escapes Sunni.
Ciaran tilts his head, and meets Sunni’s eyes. Sunni meekly smiles, “hi”.
“Hi,” He says back, and moves a bit closer. Sunni’s arm drops, but not before briefly lingering on Ciaran’s cheek.
Sunni... hadn’t really been asleep, even for the brief moments Ciaran was away. She had been too aware of how empty this house was without him, how alone and hurt she’d felt. Closing her eyes only helped against the light.
When he’d spoken words of leaving her, even if it was for her best interest, she... didn’t want him to. She thinks back to the thought she had earlier, and realizes it might calm Ciaran’s racing mind, even if just a little. She feels guilty that she had him so worried. It’s all my fault, isn’t it? I should make sure he knows I’m okay.
“It’s a con- Concussion? Most likely.” Sunni gives a satisfied sound, “I’m fine... ish?” She supplies. Her head still hurts, but less so. She sinks deeper into the cushions, warm under the quilt. She feels safe.
“Ah,” is the response she gets. She’s not sure if Ciaran has any experience with this type of injury. Well, neither did she. She’d just read about it in the books, not tended to a patient with such ailment.
Ciaran lets go of her hand and stands, climbing out through the makeshift-curtains after whispering something about water and cloth. In the span of some minutes, it sounds like a trapdoor opens, and water sloshes in a bucket.
With everything gathered once more, he lifts one half of the curtain with one hand. The other holds a bucket filled with chilled water and a green cloth, and he passes through the threshold and sees Sunni again.
He smiles, feeling almost too tired himself, but it’s okay. It’ll be okay. It has to be.
And then he pauses, for the nth time that day, “How did–”
His pet flutter sits perched atop one of the couch pillows of the couch parallel to Sunni. Its bright yellow eyes bounce back and forth, and it trills a happy tune as it flutters its wings upon his re-entry. He smiles. It must’ve snuck through the open trapdoor when he went downstairs. He should be careful about leaving it open like that.
He sets down the bucket and takes a seat on the closest end of the couch connected to Sunni’s, and dips the cloth in the bucket water. It’s too wet, so he wrings it out some.
Sunni turns to look at him, but admittedly struggles a bit, considering the very comfortable and heavy quilts that cover her. But then.
A slightly-wet, but heavenly cold cloth is gently placed on her face, over her eyes. She goes to protest, to contest the necessity of a wet cloth when she has “just a headache”, but then she stops. It actually feels nice, and if she were made of sugar, maybe she’d be melting right now.
Ciaran draws back, thinking Sunni had finally decided to stop fighting sleep, but instead he hears a soft “...thank you.” Muffled from under the blankets. The lightness in her voice is back, just slightly.
He brushes a stray hair strand from her face that had gotten trapped under the cloth, and tucks it behind her ear. His hand lingers for a moment longer as he looks at her. He briefly questions if this is something they would talk about later, or if it’d be yet another thing they dance around and move on from too soon.
Selfishly, he wonders when she’ll feel better, and when her smile will return– The very one where she laughed so earnestly and danced under the rain, applying “magic” to the moss to make it sprout into beautiful, glittering flowers.
Ciaran thinks of the sun, and the stars. Of how he’d barely ever seen her hair glowing in the sunlight, and her purple eyes sparkling with glee, before the sun was fully locked away beyond their reach. He wants the sun back, if but to see that sight once more. He looks out the window, eyes cast to the dark sky.
Shortly after, Ciaran takes the cloth from her face once more, intending to clean it and apply fresh water. He sees her eyes open once more, and lets out a quiet disbelieving chuckle, his look is questioning, as if to say why aren’t you resting yet, you are the one with a concussion.
“Mm, no. I–” Sunni pauses, thinks, then continues, “I just... I’m sorry–” Ciaran raises an eyebrow, and Sunni hurriedly continues, “I know– But, you always take care of me. So much. I’m sorry that you need to do that, that I’m– um. I want to be strong, too. For you. I don’t want to be a burden, Ciaran.” She takes a slight breath, “but I’m really happy, that you’re here. With me. I’m so incredibly happy...” Her face is red but she’s smiling, it’s as if she’s admitted some embarrassing secret.
Ciaran looks at her, and if his eyes could soften any more, they do. Sunni wonders what he’s thinking, if he’s about to stand up and leave her. She looks at his eyes. He probably won’t.
“You...” He begins, but it’s like he’s lost for words, or simply choosing not to say anything. “Rest, okay?”
She accepts this, and finally, finally, closes her eyes, intending to keep them closed. After a while, when her mind is already drifting off to sleep, she hears a soft “I’m glad I’m here with you, too,” and a hopeful little part of her sleepy brain tells her that she’s safe, here. That she might even be loved, too.
...
A few hours later, and Sunni wakes up some more. Her head feels light, much lighter than before, but the drowsiness of sleep still clings to her. She briefly glances over to where she knows Ciaran will be, and sees him sitting upright. He seems to be looking just past her, a hand leaned against the back of the couch and his head resting atop it. Then, his head drops a bit, and he snaps back as if a bucket of cold water had been thrown at him.
Ciaran tiredly sighs and resumes his previous position, but this time, his eyes fall on hers, and he notices they’re open.
Had he been watching over her all this time?
Sunni shakes herself out of the blankets and sits up a bit, leaning over to Ciaran, mumbling something about her “feeling better,” and that “you should rest too”.
Without saying another word, she reaches for his hand, and that seems to be everything that’s needed for him to oblige her wish. She shares one of the three pillows he’d brought for her, fluffing it up slightly before placing it on his side of the couch, on the opposite side of the corner piece to her own.
They both lie down, each on their separate side of the corner sofa, yet their pillows are close. Ciaran drags a blanket over himself.
And so they fall asleep, one hand in the other’s, stars veiled above them like a blanket. Their world is quiet, for it is only them here.
...
In a few more hours when they wake, well rested and ready to face the day anew, Sunni’s smile returns over breakfast, excitedly talking about “checking in and hearing if everything went alright at the Curse temple” from the expeditioners.
Ciaran can’t help but bask in her excitement too, maybe everything went well after all, he muses...