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Flins could set his timepiece by Illuga’s visits if he’d had need of one. Like a fixed appointment in his calendar Illuga appeared every 3 days, his boots crossing the threshold of the Final Night Cemetery just in time to catch the rising sun. He’d stay for a few hours, soaking in the rare sunbeams that pierced through the misty veil that surrounded the island, before hiking back to his home in Piramida for some much-needed rest himself. He knew that Illuga tended to neglect himself by coming to see Flins before resting after an expedition, but something told the fae that the man needed the peaceful quiet of the shores of the Final Night Cemetery to soothe his nerves enough to sleep. And on quieter nights Flins liked to think that it was in fact the unchanging presence of himself that Illuga sought comfort in rather than the peaceful location.
So, the small tinge of worry that Flins felt in his chest was justified when the sun had fully risen in the sky on the day that Illuga was meant to arrive, and there was no sign of him. It was just so unlike Illuga to not send word, he would usually send Aedon ahead if he was unable to make it due to problems encountered on his patrol route. For Illuga to be this late without word was so unlike the younger man that the spark of worry in Flins’ breast had bloomed into a flame large enough that Flins could not simply sit in the lighthouse and do nothing.
He’d begun making preparations to travel to Piramida himself when Illuga finally crossed the stream that separated the lighthouse from the larger island, the sun already beginning to set behind him. Flins let out a sigh of relief before chastising himself over his haste to presume something was wrong. Illuga had proven time and time again that he could take care of himself and he was very vocal in reminding others of his capability, becoming waspish when concern was directed his way too overtly. Flins knew better than to provoke him in that manner. After all, there were easier ways to provoke a reaction out of Illuga, and the reactions he aimed for were usually more fun than irritation.
As Illuga emerged from the soft blanket of mist that perpetually covered the island he noticed that something was definitely wrong. Illuga’s face was pale, his features tight in an expression that told tale of exertion and pain. His brow was soaked with sweat, his hair plastered to his forehead and his cheeks were ruddy in a manner that didn’t look like the fresh flush of youth, but more like the last flush of colour on a dying man. The journey from Piramida was long yes, but it wasn’t particularly strenuous, especially considering that a good portion of it was via boat. Illuga looked as though he’d hiked across a mountain range to get here. Flins found himself moving towards him before he’d really thought about it. And good thing too, because as soon as he was within arm’s reach Illuga moved towards him and sagged against his chest. For a fiercely independent man like Illuga to rely on another so visibly for support, even someone as close to him as Flins, something had to be so genuinely wrong that it frightened Flins to his core.
“Finally made it.” Illuga’s words were slurred into Flins’ coat, his voice hoarse from more than dehydration this time. “Sorry I’m late Sir Flins.” He made no move to push himself away from the fae, and Flins was rattled enough to want the contact as a way of proving Illuga was not a figment of his imagination. He quickly divested Illuga of the supplies he was carrying, letting the bag hit the sandy path under their feet, relieving him of the additional weight. He wrapped his arms around Illuga, steadying him against his front.
“What happened Young Master to leave you so indisposed, hmm?” He’d aimed for his usual teasing tone, but even he could admit the words had come out a bit more strained than usual.
“I’m fine,” his voice was still muffled against Flins’ chest. It made for a picture contrary to the man’s own words. “Just tired is all.”
“This is more than just tiredness. You’ve worn yourself to exhaustion, and still you tarried here instead of taking care of yourself.” He could tell Illuga was scowling now, an expression so endearingly familiar that Flins knew it would make him feel fond if only he could see it. “You still haven’t explained what has left you in your current state.”
“Ambush. Took us by surprise.” As an ambush surely would, Flins thought, wisely keeping that comment to himself. “Managed to defend our position, but…” he trailed off a little listlessly.
“Casualties?”
“Just injuries, don’t think anyone managed to escape unharmed. Even me.” Illuga moved one of his hands to pat at his right side lethargically. Now that was worrying, normally getting Illuga to openly admit to an injury was like pulling teeth and usually required Starshyna Nikita putting his foot down.
“Let’s head inside Young Master, I doubt you’ve let anyone attend to you yet.” Illuga shook his head against Flins’ coat before pushing himself away to start moving forwards towards the lighthouse. A muffled groan escaping his lips at the effort. Flins’ considered carrying him, Illuga may be stocky, but Flins was no waif himself. He reconsidered after thinking that it had already taken a lot out of Illuga to admit he was hurt, and a further wound to his pride was all Flins was going to achieve with that move. He picked up the supplies first and instead looped his arm around Illuga’s waist, bending down a little to allow Illuga’s arm to more comfortably settle across his shoulders, helping support some of his weight as they limped towards the lighthouse together.
He was glad that he kept up the pretence of being a human when it meant that the small, admittedly unused, bedroom had a clear bed for him to direct Illuga to whilst he occupied himself with putting the supplies away. Giving the other a moment to divest himself of his outerwear. He took off his own coat, figuring that if he needed to dress any of Illuga’s wounds then it wouldn’t do to get blood on it. As he passed through the small space, he lit the fireplace at the heart of the lighthouse with a wave of his hand, sure that Illuga was unlikely to notice the lack of fuel sustaining the flame. Even if he did, it would just add to the tally of unusual things Flins had done as of late to provoke Illuga into resuming their conversation about Flins’ inhuman behaviour. It was a little game he’d thoroughly enjoyed playing recently.
He knew from both Varka and the Traveller that his home was particularly chilly, and although Illuga had never complained before, he knew that it was unlikely that the man would complain even if it bothered him greatly. Besides, if he made the lighthouse more comfortable, then maybe he could convince Illuga to at least stay the night before heading back home. Even if the wound he had hidden under his clothing was small, the man looked so exhausted that it would pain Flins to see him off.
He gathered what he suspected he’d need to treat said wound, judging from the way Illuga’s face had contorted with pain as they’d travelled the short distance to the lighthouse that it wasn’t likely to be a minor scrape. Distilled spirit, a basin with fresh water, gauze, a needle and some thread suitable for stitching. Not that Flins himself had ever needed stitches, but he’d had enough practice on other more unfortunate Lightkeepers.
He knocked on the open door to avoid startling the other man, who was sitting on the edge of the bed, his back without his usual coat and vest turned to the door. His hand was still pressed against his right side with enough firmness to reassure Flins that the wound must not be particularly life threatening as Illuga still had plenty of energy still in him. At Flins’ approach, Illuga turned to him, the grimace on his face swiftly disappearing at the sight of him, replaced by a wide-eyed stare at his state of undress, eyes lingering on his bare arms as Flins had rolled his purple shirt sleeves up to his elbows. He smirked as Illuga quickly withdrew his gaze, a red flush reaching his ears at being caught staring. He’d save the teasing for later; it wasn’t as fun to draw out the embarrassment now when he could catch him unprepared later. He wanted to see how far he could push the other man before he acted on his poorly concealed, but reciprocated, feelings. Flins was willing to wait until Illuga was ready, after all, he was a gentleman like that. Besides, it was funny watching how many different shades of red Illuga could turn, and how far he could catch him off guard.
“May I?” He asked, gesturing to the area Illuga still kept covered. Illuga didn’t respond with words but did move his hands out of the way revealing a deep gash still weeping blood slowly. Judging by the wad of blood stained cloth next to him that Flins had only just noticed, he’d managed to hastily staunch some of the bleeding and had kept pressure on the wound, but he’d not had the time to check that it had actually stopped bleeding. And he’d certainly not had enough time to redress it in a cleaner environment. As he’d suspected, it would definitely need stitches, too deep to heal without the outside intervention.
He sighed, about to say something reproachful to Illuga about how he needed to take better care of himself, but before he could open his mouth Illuga muttered something about how he’d appreciate it if Flins just didn’t say anything. He acquiesced for now, with a click of his teeth as he shut his mouth, displeased, but it’d be another thing he’d simply just bring up later. It was unacceptable for the young man to endanger himself in such a way, especially considering all he was doing was bringing unnecessary supplies to Flins who didn’t need them. He was ignoring the small twinge of guilt that resonated within him until he was ready to deal with it.
He knelt down, positioning himself and his implements in easy reach of Illuga’s wound. He used the water to clean away any dirt that Illuga had missed when he’d cleaned it the first time, pleased to see at least that there wasn’t any obviously visible dirt left in the wound. He then held up the bottle of spirit that he was planning to use to disinfect the wound, warning him of what was to come next without any words, demonstrating that he could follow Illuga’s earlier instructions. He could almost hear Illuga’s eyes roll in exasperation, as he fought back a smirk himself.
“I didn’t mean don’t talk ever again, Sir Flins. Go ahead, I’m ready.” He still gasped as Flins made first contact with a small amount of gauze soaked in the alcohol. It really did work wonders to help prevent infection, though Illuga should really see an actual healer once Flins was finished with him. He briefly wondered why Illuga had come to him instead of seeing one of the healers back in Piramida. But he shook that thought away, focusing on his task. He continued to dab the high strength alcohol across the length of the cut, ensuring the area had been disinfected as best as he could.
Aside from the initial gasp of pain, Illuga hadn’t made a sound, weathering the discomfort as if it was an experience he was very familiar with. Though Flins supposed he was probably very familiar with disinfecting and stitching wounds, judging from the sheer number of scars that covered Illuga’s skin. He wasn’t any less handsome for them, physically they added an air of ruggedness to him that suited him well, and to Flins they each told a story of survival; of battles won purely by virtue of Illuga having lived to tell the tale of them. Flins was both grateful for them as they were evidence of Illuga’s resilience, and resentful of the fact that most of them represented moments where Illuga had felt the need to throw himself in harms way at each available opportunity because he felt guilt and shame that he’d survived all of these past encounters when others hadn’t.
He knew it was a childish wish, but in moments such as this he did wish that Illuga would decide to give up his calling as a Lightkeeper. Even if it was only for long enough for him to forgive himself of his perceived sins. Maybe then he’d have a little more self-preservation without the weight of guilt eating him from within.
He took a moment to consider how different he and Illuga were. He would have shaken off an injury like this in no time as he was naturally more resistant to injuries due to his true form being one of pure energy. Even in this form, he was able to heal far quicker than a human. However, compared to Flins it was so painfully clear how fragile humans were, how fragile Illuga was, regardless of his internal strength.
He sighed, still lost in thought as he readied the needle and thread, disinfecting the needle by dousing it in the alcohol and setting light to it using the same internal magic he’d used on the fireplace. He missed the soft, startled noise Illuga made as he saw him so casually conjure fire, an element that he shouldn’t have been able to wield had he only been able to use elemental energy because of his moon wheel.
Resuming his original train of thought, it was beside the point anyway. It’s not as if he would ever ask Illuga to change who he was. After all, he loved Illuga because of his deeply human traits, not in spite of them. He loved him for his determination, his loyalty to others, his deep-seated care for all those around him, colleagues and strangers alike; he even loved his impulsive streak, reckless though he could be, Illuga’s bravery was something to be admired, not something he should be reproached for. He’d much rather go back to floating in the dark void of nothingness he’d slept in for years than ask Illuga to change so much about himself. Though, he could try to push him towards taking greater care of himself and towards forgiving himself for his imagined crime of living another day. Though he knew healing such a wound to his soul would be a long road, and a far tougher battle than simply stitching him back together when he needed it.
He realised that he’d been so deep in thought that he’d automatically started suturing the wound in front of him without checking whether the man the wound belonged to was in fact ready. Illuga was letting a breath out between his teeth when Flins finally came out of his own thoughts, but he was sitting patiently, waiting for the next stitch without complaint.
“Ah, forgive me Young Master, I was simply lost in thought and forgot to warn you.”
“It’s rare to see you distracted. What are you thinking about?” Illuga’s voice was steady despite the pain. He sounded faintly amused at Flins’ absent manner.
“You.” He said simply, prepared for the usual spluttering at him being so direct by bracing his free hand against Illuga to stop him from moving too much. Though none of that followed. Illuga only hummed, so Flins continued, the urge to say something about the whole situation had simply become unbearable. “I know you do not wish to hear it, but I’d prefer it if you’d take better care of yourself. I would like you to be here for a long while yet.”
Illuga sighed, but it wasn’t annoyed, only an exhalation of air. “I’ll try.” He paused for a moment before tacking on, “For you.”
“I only ask that you do, Illuga. Try, that is.” He finished the rest of the stitching with no problems. Wiping down the area with more alcohol before bandaging the whole thing up under a couple of layers of gauze, just to be sure. No more words were exchanged between the two, but the silence felt more comfortable than before.
As he moved to put his medical supplies away, Illuga asked him if he could borrow something of his to wear, gesturing at the blood-soaked vest he’d discarded onto the floor. Flins supposed he probably did have something that would fit him, not that he had much need to wear clothes other than the ones he was currently wearing. After some searching he did find a shirt much the same as the one he currently wore. Illuga slipped it on, his movements stiff. It was much too big on him. It was fine in the width, maybe even a little tight across the shoulders, but the length swamped him. Illuga’s ears turned red again at the teasing Flins subjected him to about his height, snapping back that he’d one day have a growth spurt, and then he’d be the one laughing. Though they both knew that the time for a miraculous increase in Illuga’s height had long since passed.
With a huff Illuga lay back down on the bed and turned his back on Flins. Clearly having been dismissed, Flins moved to leave the room to give Illuga some privacy, but a hand reached out and caught his wrist in a surprisingly firm grip. Illuga had rolled back over so that he could grab a hold of him, stopping him in his tracks. Though he refused to look at Flins’ face, staring at the wall in front of him with determination.
“Thank you.” Flins waited, sure that Illuga had more to say, but was simply struggling with the words. After a short period of silence, he continued as Flins expected he would. “I didn’t want anyone else to see me like this. Hurt. Especially now, when they need me to be strong.” He exhaled loudly, a bitter laugh caught in it, his gaze still trained forwards, but now at the point that connected the two of them. “I’m not strong though, not like this. Not recently. I’m…I’m tired Flins.” It was whispered, like a secret between the two of them.
Flins sat gently on the bed, not missing the way that Illuga’s form curled towards him. He could say all manner of things. That Illuga was maybe the strongest person he’d met, that it had taken such courage to admit that he was struggling, even if it was just with the exhaustion. But it wouldn’t be right. Not now. “Rest Illuga. I’ll keep watch over you whilst you slumber.” And sleep Illuga did, Flins’ hand now firmly clutched in his own.
And if Illuga got a fright when he woke up later, surprisingly feeling more well rested than he had in a long time, but wrapped around a familiar, blue lantern that was still lit with flame, then it was between him and the laughing aforementioned lantern.