A House Filled With Night

“Ow…ow, ow, ow! Gentle!” whined Fiske. “That’s the shoulder, you know—ow!”

Shortly after the accident in the gallery, Niko completely regained consciousness and asked for food as if nothing had happened. Fiske, on the other hand, had developed a multitude of other, more dire ailments. His shoulder seemed to have caved in by two whole inches, his spine was bent in multiple directions, one wrist and both ankles had been sprained, his head was aching (undoubtably because of a concussion), and he had stone dust embedded into his skin (piercing through his very pores).

While the eldest brothers worked on repairing the House and preparing for one more trip to Celemine’s grave, Runa spent most of her time caring for the two wounded brothers. Reapplying the medicine on Fiske’s shoulder that morning was proving more difficult than expected, mostly because he wouldn’t stop squirming. Niko sat on the bed behind her, contentedly slurping down a massive bowl of soup. Torin, for no apparent reason, had pulled up a chair next to Runa’s and was “overseeing” the nursing process.

“Runa—it huuuuurts—”

“Just a second—“

“Don’t forget to wash around it too.”

“Alright.”

“And—”

“Just shut up and let her finish,” Torin scowled. “And do you really have to take off your shirt just so she can put a little bandage on your shoulder? She never asked to see any of…this.” He gestured vaguely at Fiske’s torso.

“I can’t help it if she was too shy to ask out loud.”

Her eyes popped. “What are you—”

“It’s okay,” crooned Fiske. “I understand. I’m a giving person, so don’t worry about it.”

“Runa,” called Niko, through a mouthful of soup. “I think something’s dripping from my bandage. Is that bad?”

She dropped the roll of bandages on Fiske’s lap and rushed over to Niko, ignoring Fiske’s dramatic groan.

“Oh! Oh, my goodness! Your leg is bleeding all over the bed! Torin, help me get a towel under him. And—and go get those bandages I left!”

“What are you doing here, anyway, Torin?” asked Niko, swallowing.

“Helping you. Obviously.”

Runa rolled up Niko’s pant leg and began dabbing the blood seeping through the bandage. After about twenty seconds of watching with avid curiosity, he returned to his bowl of soup with renewed vigor while Runa wrapped him up again.

“Do you want me to ask Casimir for something to ease the pain, Niko?” asked Runa.

“No thanks,” he garbled through another spoonful. “I’m fine.”

“Why can’t you be as tough as your little brother, Fiske?” Torin chuckled. “He’s making you look pathetic.”

“Niko is made of rock. Everyone knows that. I can’t help it if I’m a porcelain vase.”

“I think you can put your shirt back on now, Sir Glassware.”

“My bandage—”

Torin marched over and quickly wound the bandage around his shoulder, securing it with a sturdy knot (perhaps a little tighter than necessary). He then snatched up Fiske’s discarded shirt and shoved it over his head, smirking a little at his brother’s cries of pain.

“Runa—”

“The only one in this room that she wants to see without a shirt,” Torin grunted with a final tug, “Is me.”

Fiske’s jaw dropped. Niko’s eyes popped, his spoon stuck poking out of his mouth. Runa flinched and spilled some medicine on the bedsheets, spinning around with an incredulous expression.

Torin just offered her a broad smile. “Why don’t you take a break? I’ll bring you a drink of water.”

He exited the room, leaving everyone in complete silence.

Finally, Niko turned to Runa, his eyes wide. “How did you know Torin has cool muscles?”

Fiske burst into a fit of hysterical laughter.

She was still standing in the same spot, speechless, when Torin returned with a glass of cold water. He shook his head, took her by the arm, and led her to a stuffed armchair on the other side of the room.

“You’ve been up all night watching over my brothers. Let yourself rest for a bit, okay?”

She opened her mouth and then stopped when Torin reached up and brushed a strand of hair in her face behind her ears. Her face grew pink; her jaw snapped closed.

“Just rest, alright? And later, I want to talk to you about—well, I want to tell you—”

“What are you talking about?” called Fiske from his bed. “I want to hear too!”

Torin pursed his lips.

“I can’t…” she began to stand up again.

He put his hands on her shoulders and gently pushed her back down. “No. It’s okay. I’ll take care of them for a while. You rest.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Please.”

“Well…okay. Okay, I’ll go take a little nap. I’ll just be in the next room. Come get me if you need help.”

He smiled and shooed her off. After she had finally gone, Torin walked over to the beds and plopped down on the ground between his brothers.

“Tor—” Fiske started.

“What do you want?”

“I need—”

“Get it yourself.”

“But Runa—”

“Let her rest, will you? Little brat.”

Barely forty minutes of peace and quiet passed in the sickroom before Casimir came in and asked for Torin’s help looking for supplies. He and Sylvain had been gathering all the necessary tools for their next trip to the city graveyard. So far, they had accumulated a pile of shovels and picks, a few bags, some knives, and muskets. Strange how, only a few months ago, they were walking the city freely. Now they went with weapons.

Torin finally finished and got the chance to slip back into the sickroom room. But by the time he arrived, Runa was already gone. According to Fiske (Niko had fallen asleep), she was in the kitchen with Sylvain.

—

“So then I thought, why dig up a grave on an empty stomach? My brothers eat so much these days, and I know they’ll be starving halfway through. Not to mention, I’ve heard ghosts enjoy a good boo-bery pie.”

Under the guise of “assisting” in the kitchen, Sylvain was holding Runa captive to another odd display of this hidden personality that seemed to surface every time he started cooking. It had been a good hour of him showing off every dish and dead-panned punny joke that popped into his brain, and amazingly, he was still going strong.

Torin stood behind the door frame with just the tip of his head poking out, trying to think up some way to free Runa. He stuck out a hand when she turned around for a moment, but quickly pulled back when his brother did, too.

“Could you grab a pan for me? Thank you. So, how fare the injured ones? Driven you mad yet? Fiske’s faking half of his injuries, by the way, in case you hadn’t already solved that little mystery.”

“Well, they seem to be getting better. I—”

Runa finally caught sight of Torin waving his arms at her in the doorway.

“But I…actually, you know, this reminds me. I should probably check on them now.”

“What? They’re fine! Help me stir.”

“Oh, okay.”

“Smells good, doesn’t it? It’ll be even better after they’re cooked.” Sylvain turned back to the oven, opening it and pulling out a hot iron pan. “Torin,” he called over his shoulder, “why do you persist your futile attempts to spy on Runa and me?”

Torin stepped into the kitchen, shrugging.

“…Sorry. I was kind of hoping the smell of baked bread would disorient your weird know-y powers. I just wanted to talk to Runa about something.”

Sylvain raised an eyebrow. “About what?”

“Things.”

He sighed somewhat tragically. “Alright, fine. I think can survive on my own, Runa.”

Torin looked elated as Runa took off her apron and stepped into the hall. But they had only managed to turn the corner when they ran into Casimir.

“There you are. Niko woke up again. And he’s hungry. Again. Torin, I need your help again.”

And so, Torin left with Casimir again while Runa went back to grab some snacks and take them to the bedroom.

“Thanks,” Niko said cheerfully, taking the snacks from her. “You’re a much better nurse than my brothers.”

“You’re an easy patient. I just have to feed you and you’re happy.”

He smiled.

“Water?” asked Runa, holding the glass up to him. Niko drank, smiling contentedly as she dabbed the leftover droplets away with a napkin.

“You know,” said Torin, coming up behind Runa. “Just because he acts like a baby, doesn’t mean you have to treat him like one.”

“You’re just jealous.”

“Of course I’m jealous. You’re getting pampered by Runa.”

Runa stopped mid napkin-fold and shoved it on the bedside table, opting for pretend-cleaning as a quick method to hide her blush once again.

“Score two for Torin,” called Fiske from the other bed.

The door to the bedroom swung open, and Casimir’s head popped inside.

“Torin, what is your worthless butt doing here? How many times are you going to make me chase you down? I’ve been slaving in the gallery all day trying to clean up this mess, what about you?”

“Helping Runa—”

“Pfft, Whatever. Get out here.”

The pained sigh which emanated from Torin did nothing to soften Casimir, who mercilessly dragged him far away from the room, and far away from Runa. The gallery was still a mess, despite Casimir’s insistence that he had been working on it all morning. Torin’s strength aided the work greatly, but it was still hours before they had cleared most of the rubble. By late evening, after buckets of sweat, three snacks, a thousand chunks of rock, and one shower, Torin was headed back downstairs in one final attempt to get to Runa.

Runa, on the other hand, had just finished clearing the pile of dishes next to Niko’s bed and decided she needed a break. After hours sitting in that little room, walking around seemed relaxing. As she wandered the hallways, she tried to convince herself that she really was just roaming, and not searching for Torin. Or maybe she was multitasking. While she walked, he might happen by her sometime, or—

She turned the next corner and promptly bumped into someone’s chest: Torin’s.

“Oh—I was just looking for you,” he laughed. “Here you are.”

She pushed herself away, doing her best not to look too flustered. His hair was still wet, so it hung in dark, shimmery strands over his eyes, droplets falling from the tips and onto the fabric of his slightly damp shoulders.

“I’ve been trying to talk to you all day,” he began, letting out a heavy sigh. “I suppose it can’t be helped, with how wild everything has become. But I just had to tell you—”

“Torin!” came Casimir’s voice from the next room. “Where did you go?”

Torin puffed his cheeks out in frustration. His eyes roved over the room quickly. The next instant, he grabbed Runa by the wrist and pulled her under a table with him. They sat huddled together beneath the tablecloth, watching as Casimir’s shadow passed by.

Runa sniffed quietly. The faint smell of soap was stronger now that they were hiding together in a small space. She glanced at him. He was grinning like a little kid.

“I like this. Meeting under tables. It’s definitely growing on me.”

She couldn’t help but smile in turn, remembering their first meeting.

“I wouldn’t recommend napping,” she said. “Believe me.”

“Oh, I wasn’t planning on falling asleep.”

His look was already making her face go hot again.

“Me neither,” she whispered, turning away to lift up the tablecloth.

“Wait—” Torin caught her hand. He drew the cloth back down and pulled her hand to him.

“I want to finish. What I mean is—I want to finish what I’ve been trying to say all day.”

His skin seemed to glow a gentle violet from the light filtering through the fabric. His smile was warm, with just a hint of uncertainty in his brow.

“Alright.” She scooted closer to him, so that their knees were touching. “Tell me.”

The corners of Torin’s eyes crinkled with laughter, amused by the expectant expression looking up at him. He caught both her hands in his, searching for the right words.

“Everything…everything is changing around us. Probably not for the better. I realize that. The House is falling to pieces, we’re falling to pieces, and none of us really know what we’re doing. I don’t know what will happen to us now. This might be—no, I’m certain this isn’t the best timing, but…I’ve begun to think it’s even worse for me to keep living this lie.”

Runa frowned at this, tilting her head to one side.

“I have been lying to you, but even more to myself. I don’t want to be away from you. In fact, I don’t want to stay away from you for another second. I tried, and then I tried even harder, but I’ve given up. I think that…maybe I should have given up a long time ago. You make me something I could never be without you. When I’m with you, you see me a way no one else ever can. You see what I can be. You’ve given me this wild idea that I may actually have a chance at happiness. And so, you see, actually, I’m saying that—well—”

During this speech, his eyes had wandered just about everywhere else they could possibly wander; finally, they wandered back to her face, shaking with anticipation. But she was just staring up at him—breathless, eyes wide and glowing.

“Do you know what I’m saying, Runa?”

“I th-think so…” she stuttered, blinking quickly. It was so warm under the table now. Everything was shadowy, soft, and purple. His eyes steadily held hers, as if trying to find something lost inside them. Then they faltered, flickering downward, lingering for a moment. When he leaned forward, she felt the droplets of water from his hair fall and splatter on her knees.

“Because…if you do, Runa…if you’ll have me…”

She slid her fingers completely into his and held on tightly, looking down at their clasped hands. Torin ducked his head a little, so he could look up at her now. He tilted his head as his eyes flitted over her face, studying every detail. His expression was adoring, and somehow, still curious. She could feel his breath falling on her chin, and slowly, very slowly, her eyelids fell shut.

In that moment when Torin’s lips met hers, it was as if a wave of gentle, warm water flowed about them, carrying them somewhere far away from everyone else. His kiss was so tender this time—not mixed with fear or desperation. Only love. It was soft, so soft; and yet, she had to reach up and grasp his forearms just to keep herself from falling backward. When he finally pulled away, he held her elbows in the palms of his hands and leaned his forehead against hers, as if he just couldn’t stand to be more than half an inch away from her right now. His eyes were still closed, but he was smiling.

“Runa,” he whispered. “You’re the sweetest treasure I’ve ever discovered beneath a table.”

She laughed, breathlessly but happy. Torin leaned closer again and she felt his lips brush up against her cheek.

“Runa…”

“Torin!” bellowed Fiske down the hall. “Torin! Where in the world are you? Where’s Runa? Hey! I’m hungry!”

Torin and Runa simultaneously jumped, freezing the next second in the hope that they hadn’t been heard.

“Where are they…” he mumbled, shuffling around the room. He giggled to himself. “I bet they’re kissing right now.”

Runa slapped a hand over her mouth.

“‘Oh, hey, Runa, want to see my scars?’ ‘Hee hee! Oh no, not that, Torin! So embarrassing!’ ‘They’re really cool, I promise.’ ‘Hee hee! No, Torin! Stop it!’ ”

Torin swallowed a low growl. They heard a few cabinets swing open, slam shut—and then silence.

“Well. Who cares what they do, anyway? It’s about time.”

Fiske skipped out of the room, humming happily to himself as he went.

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~ A/N ~

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~ COMMENT OF THE WEEK ~