Fields of gold

Friend

Eleanor was pretty positive she'd never spent so much time in town since she'd inherited the cabin. Her faithful cat, Féline, already hated her guts for being absent so often. Every time her little car approached the city, her body protested from the onslaught of waves that assaulted it. Head buzzing, muscles spasming, she thanked God that her classes happened in the massive building of Oxford University. The rocks acted as a shield when it came to electromagnetic waves, and it gave her some measure of relief.

The hospital, though, was much, much worse. Wires ran everywhere, electronics communicating between central and rooms, 5G eating at her brain until she couldn't tell left from right – which actually happened often enough. Strangely, in those moments, watching Laurëfindelë's eyes always centered her. As if his aura lessened the strain upon her fuzzy brain.

And, if HE was here, she could handle the strain, right ? And what she learnt from him defied anything she'd ever laid her eyes upon. Both curiosity and empathy brought her back, again and again, to the hospital room. That man... was so much more than a man. From the pointed edges of his ears to the nobility he exuded, even injured, Eleanor felt like she'd barely scratched the surface. His gaze, often, left her speechless; they seemed to contain a world of their own. As if he had seen everything, swallowed a whole era in full.

And yet, he treated her with warmth and respect. Despite those scars than ran down the side of his back, despite his singed hair, and the pain he sometimes fought valiantly, he was never short with her. As if his soul was made of light, radiating it over the people that came near. Eleanor was addicted.

A few days ago, Myriam had asked if she could be present for the first sessions of physiotherapy to help with translation. Despite the progress she'd done in understanding him, she still had no clue about the nature of his mother tongue... except that it flowed like silk in his mouth, and created goosebumps over her arms.

So there she was, wheeling him downstairs for a session that would, for sure, cause him suffering. He was dressed in scrubs – short sleeves and wide blue pants covering his fair skin. On his left arm remained bandages that covered burns to avoid infection. The rest of his body was stiff, but adorned with efficient muscles. He wasn't a massive man, but there was not an ounce of fat over him.

As the elevator doors closed, Laurëfindelë tensed and twisted in the chair – the movement caused him to wince in pain. At once, Eleanor caught his weary gaze and asked, detaching her words.

"What is it ?"

He took in her relaxed features and seemed to take the cue, elegant fingers unclasping the sides of the wheelchair. Perhaps he was claustrophobic ?

"Afraid ?" she questioned, mimicking the enclosed space.

He nodded cautiously, and she marvelled, once more, that he would allow fears to be laid at her feet without an ounce of shame. He was so very different from the males she knew; proud and unable to ask directions. Strangely, the admission of his discomfort did not take anything away from his raw masculinity. With that mop of wavy hair that rivalled the sun, the lines of his face that seemed to have been carved out of marble, and the long eyelashes, he should have looked feminine. Or, at least, androgynous.

The truth was. That... he didn't. Not one bit. He was, tops down, the most beautiful male she'd ever set her eyes upon, and still managed to appeal to her femininity.

"All is well," she smiled, patting his shoulder. "Mára ná," she added in his own language.

His fingers brushed her in assent, causing a delectable shiver to run down her spine.

"Sankyou," he responded, his voice smooth like silk. "Hantan lye."

This was a sentence she'd heard often in the course of past days. His gratitude always warmed her heart, for he took nothing for granted. She was sure to get a whole new set tomorrow, for she had gathered a few clothes to allow him to feel like an actual human being, rather than hang around with those horrible hospital blouses.