Because I just can't help myself:
“The doctor said you weren’t suppose to move,” I said, uncertain.
“Drinking water doesn’t qualify as moving,” he said. “Come here.”
I snuggled up against him, then lifted my head, unbuttoned the shirt.
“What you have in mind would qualify,” he said.
“Oh hush up. I want to see the bandage.”
It was still white. The bleeding must have stopped.
“Better?” he asked, watching my face.
“Yes. But I’m not letting you move, not one inch.”
“Nazi.”
“I’d forgotten all about those,” I said, wonderingly. “I wonder if I’m going to have culture shock when we get back home.”
“Ceallach?” asked Aoth, from outside the tent.
“Come."
“I found some soup,” said the boy, when he was inside. He said it to me.
I took it from him, smiled. He blushed and ducked back out through the canvas flap.
“I see you’ve charmed the page,” said Ceallach, dryly.
“Is my big, bad faerie warrior jealous of his page?”
“Paltry human. Don‘t make me stand up.”
I laughed. “Oh, the ultimate insult; calling me out on my humanity.”
I pulled the luggage out from under his feet, brought it up to his head.
“You know what you are,” he said, quietly, as I propped his head up.
“Ceallach, I love you,” I replied, kissing his mouth. “I love you, I love you, I love you. Now eat some soup.”
“Well, since you put it like that…”
He slept on and off all day. I sat beside him, dutifully going through my biology textbook. It was more than a little surreal, but it beat being bored.
****
Oh, my bloggy friends, what will I do when I finish this story? I do not know, I just do not know.
