Dream:
It was my eight birthday. The house was empty. Everyone had gone to attend Silencer Kaelin's party...my stepbrother, hosted by my father and his mistress. I was home alone, starving, rummaging around for something to eat. The fridge? Locked. The storeroom? Also locked. Then I spotted a bun in the trash. I picked it up. Expired- myself small, hopeful, trying to pretend it wasn't expired.
Don't eat it, I screamed in the dream. Please, don't eat that, it's already gone bad.
But the boy didn't listen.
He was too hungry to listen what's I'm saying.
I sat with him in that cold, dark room, watching him chew with a kind of desperate stubbornness, like if he could just finish this one bun, everything would be okay again. Like Mom might walk in through the door with a cake in hand, laughing the way she used to.
But she never came. And the pain hit. A sharp, twisting ache in the stomach.
I remembered curling up on the bed, alone, crying into the pillow, whispering, Happy birthday, Lucien, to no one.
I woke up with a sharp gasp.
My chest ached from the memory.
The bedsheets clung to me with sweat, my breath shallow, my pulse too fast. It took a moment before I remembered where I was—who I was now.
Lucien Malric Moreaux.
Not that little, fragile boy anymore.
And yet, sometimes in the middle of the night, it was hard to tell the difference.
I sat at the edge of the bed, rubbing my face, trying to push the memory away. But sleep was long gone.
So I left my room.
The hallway was silent, washed in soft amber lighting. Rain still tapped against the tall windows like distant fingers knocking.
I walked to the door beside mine and stopped.
Arno's room.
I stood there, hand halfway raised as if to knock, then dropped it again. I didn't want to wake her. She needed rest. I told myself I'd just check the temperature. Maybe see if the nightlight was still on.
Instead, I just… stood there. A man too afraid of closeness and too broken to admit he needed it.
Minutes passed. Maybe more.
Then... Click.
The door creaked.
Arno stepped out, wrapped in a blanket like some kind of wandering spirit. Her steps were slow. Wobbly. Her eyes unfocused, breath uneven.
And then... She stumbled.
I lunged forward and caught her just in time, arms steadying her before she could hit the floor.
"Careful!" I said sharply, too loud in the silence. "What are you doing out here? It's the middle of the night."
She leaned into me, her voice barely a whisper. "I think… I caught a cold, Bluebird…"
Her skin burned against mine. I pressed my palm gently to her forehead. It was as hot as the volcano.
"Damn it," I muttered. "You're burning up."
Without another word, I scooped her up.
She didn't resist...just tucked her head against my chest like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Back in her room, I laid her down carefully, tucking the blanket tighter around her.
"Don't move," I said, brushing her damp hair away from her face.
She blinked up at me, eyes glassy.
"Don't go," she murmured. "Feels like the room's spinning."
"I'm not going anywhere," I said, already reaching for the landline. "Shan? Call Dr. Aylene. Now. Tell her it's urgent."
"Yes, sir. Right away."
I hung up.
Then sat beside Arno again, gently stroking her hair back as her eyes slowly drifted closed.
"Bluebird…" she murmured, still half-conscious.
I held her hand. "I'm here." She didn't speak after that, but her fingers curled slightly around mine.
I sat there silently rubbing her hand.
---
Soon, Shan arrived with Dr. Aylene.
"Mr. Moreaux, what happened to Dr. Solace?" Shan asked, concern lacing his voice. "She was fine when we arrived… and now…"
"She caught a cold in the rain," I replied anxiously. "Aylene checked her. Is she going to be alright?"
Aylene glanced at me, noting the tension in my expression. In all the years she had known me, she had never seen me like this, anxious, vulnerable, almost… human.
So, the ice mountain finally melted, huh…
She muttered under her breath, "Who is she?" Her gaze immediately swept over Arno.
Then Aylene moved to sit beside Arno.
"She said she feels cold. Dizzy. She's burning up," I said, shifting aside so she could approach.
Aylene placed her bag down and snapped on her gloves. "Help me sit her up a little."
I gently lifted Arno by the shoulders, supporting her against my chest as Aylene checked her vitals; forehead, pulse, eyes, throat. Every now and then, the doctor's brows would twitch faintly, but she said nothing.
Arno whimpered once, her head pressing lightly into me.
"I know, darling," Aylene said softly, brushing a strand of hair from Arno's temple. "You'll feel better soon. Just let me work."
A moment passed in silence as the doctor listened to Arno's breathing with her stethoscope. Then she finally spoke.
"It's a mild fever, possibly triggered by overexertion, stress, or judging by the sinus pressure- early signs of a seasonal flu." She looked up at me. "But her immune system's been through a lot lately. She shouldn't have been out of bed."
"She just… wandered out," I said, tightening the blanket around Arno's shoulders. "Didn't even realize she was sick until she nearly collapsed."
Aylene sighed, already pulling a small white notepad from her coat. "I'll prescribe something to lower the fever, ease the congestion, and help her sleep through the night. I'll have Shan pick it up immediately."
"She won't need to be hospitalized?"
"No. But you'll have to monitor her temperature every few hours tonight. And make sure she drinks fluids. If she complains of chest pain, worsening chills, or any confusion; call me. Immediately."
I nodded. "Understood."
She stood up, handed me the note, then hesitated.
Her eyes softened as she looked back at Arno. "She trusts you. That's good. She'll rest better with you stay nearby."
"…I'm not leaving," I said quietly.
Dr. Aylene smiled, just faintly. "Good. Then you'll do just fine."
With that, she gathered her things and turned to go. At the door, she paused. "Take care of her, Mr. Moreaux."
"I will," I said, without hesitation.
I returned to Arno's side, still holding her hand. Her breathing had evened out, but her cheeks were flushed, her lips slightly parted in discomfort.
"You scared me," I murmured, brushing my thumb across her knuckles. "You're not allowed to collapse on me, you hear that?
She didn't reply.
I sighed. "Bluebird, huh…?"
She had called me that few times now. I didn't know what it meant to her.
But I knew what she meant to me.
I leaned back in the chair, never letting go of her hand, listening to the soft patter of rain against the windows as the night carried on.
Sleep could wait.
---