Mila
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Romantic/Platonic — P Martens
🕑 Added 2024-04-08 06:35:49 +0000 UTCIt’s almost 5 o’clock in the morning. The ticking clock confirms it, your slight tiredness confirms it, and what’s even weirder than you being up at this time is the fact that K’s at your place at this time.
There’s blood dripping down their arm, a nasty gash that won’t stop oozing the red liquid. “How did you do this again?” you question, a cloth in your hand ready to be of aid as they lean against the side table.
The corners of K’s mouth twitch upwards, but the smile isn’t genuine. The two of you have known each other long enough for you to spot the differences between their authentic emotions. It’s even more obvious when the two of you have built such a strong friendship.
K thinks for a beat. “Ask no questions and I’ll tell no lies.”
Your mouth twists. You’re silent for a beat and gesture to the wound. A moment passes before K extends it and lets you examine it.
“How about you try answering again,” you mumble as you press the cloth to their skin.
There are certain similarities between humans and supernaturals in this case. In many cases, actually; but this one being that stemming a bleed is always a good shout.
K’s eyes narrow, and maybe it’s to cover a wince or just so they can aim their annoyance at you. “How about you get that magical partner of yours to fix me up,” they jibe back.
It’s P they’re talking about. Not only is it obvious, but the way your stomach twirls at the sound of their name in circumstances like this shows the effect they have on you.
“That’s the only reason you’re here?” you ask, instantly causing K’s brows to un-furrow, as though they can sense disappointment in your voice.
They hum. “You know it isn’t,” K murmurs in a soft voice as though they carefully thought out their words. “I just don’t like taking you away from your lover, that’s all.”
The cloth seems to do its job at soaking up the blood, but the gash that’s left; that isn’t your job to deal with. Instead, it’s the job of the witch/warlock who’s tiptoeing down your stairs. P emerges from around the corner, eyes slightly widened, an arched brow and a question on their lips that you know will be left unanswered.
Their blue eyes rest of you first, then K, then the cloth that you’ve moved to the side. After running a hand over their slightly dishevelled hair, P opens their mouth.
“Do I get a story about how this happened before I start healing you?” P asks, standing by your side and placing a warm hand on your shoulder.
There are five known love languages, and yet with a partner like P, you get to regularly experience each one. Their slender fingers curl around your shoulder as they give it a gentle squeeze, a gesture that speaks less than a thousand words, but important ones all the same. Them letting you know they’re always here for you.
“No, let’s just skip to the healing part,” K says with a roll of their eyes, a nonchalant tone to their voice. Yet, you’re sure there’s a hint of pain in it too.
You glance up at P, to the point where it feels like the two of you are having a conversation only the two of you can decipher. A conversation where you tell one another that you’re worried about K, that something serious must have happened.
“I can leave you to it, if you like,” you murmur, getting up to vacate the seat you’re in. “I’ll make you both a hot drink.”
You expect a protest to leave K’s lips, even one along the lines of ‘if it’s not blood, then why would I be interested?’ but the sharp quip doesn’t come.
“Thank you, love,” P mutters, leaning upwards and placing a quick kiss on your cheek before they take the seat you were in.
K watches you go around the corner and leave, pushing their outstretched arm towards P. A few moments pass, the first being P picking which spell will best work on the injury. The second moment being whether they have the energy to complete the spell. The third moment for—
“Sorry for waking the two of you,” K chokes out.
P blinks. They shake their head a little. “I’d rather you come to us than not. You’re my partner’s best friend, my best friend. An apology isn’t necessary.”
There’s silence, and then the sound of a kettle boiling. Despite the tiredness in their eyes, in their palms and fingers, P reaches out and takes K’s arm. They examine the damage first: the gash, the redness forming, the slight swelling, and the fact that K’s vampire instincts would probably be telling them that a drink of blood would be great now.
“I went to your apartment first, actually,” K blurts out.
P’s eyes shimmer in a deeper shade of blue, the spell they’ve been muttering in their head ready to shoot from their fingertips. “You did?”
K nods, trying not to flinch as P’s thumbs glide over their injury. The spell falls from their tongue, a tangle of words and warm light from their fingers doing its job as K’s wound begins to stitch up.
“Yeah. I just knew that they’d worry,” K says in reference to you. “I knew that you’d worry as well, but…they’re finally building this life with you. I don’t want to put supernatural problems on their head.”
P doesn’t say it, but at least now they know K’s injury is supernatural related. “I didn’t know you felt like such a protector.” There isn't any malice in the words, slight truth, yes. But mostly playfulness.
K’s lips purse. “Just because you’re the one kissing them everyday. I’m just saying, what the two of you have is good, right?”
P nods, even smiles despite the situation because ‘good’ isn’t even the word they’d use to describe what you have together. Instead, they’d use a phrase describing you as light in darkness, or freshly bloomed flowers in a field. Or as a specific sound, when their pencil meets the canvas when they start a new sketch. You’re not a simple entity to the witch/warlock.
You’re much more.
