CHAPTER 94: GENTLE LULABBY

Lucien woke up with a pounding head and a cold so nasty it felt like ice water sitting in his lungs.

Even the doctor shook his head while packing up his bag, unable to hide the disappointment.

This was his third emergency call to the island in less than a month for the same patient and the same reason, and once again he left behind the same stack of precautions and medication.

The only difference this time was the extra vitamins and flu medicine he practically begged Lucien to take.

Lucien sniffed hard. "Accho!" He sneezed with enough force to shake the pillows.

His nose immediately flooded, and he glared at the three alphas sitting stiffly on the sofa like children waiting to be scolded.

"I told you I was freezing," he grumbled, voice thick and miserable.

"Look at the doctor’s face. Even he is tired of telling you idiots to stop using me like a toy. You think I’m a sex doll?"

His face was flushed from fever rather than anger, and when the throbbing in his head flared again he winced and curled in on himself.

Silas noticed immediately. He stood and approached him with careful steps, then gently wiped Lucien’s nose with a clean tissue.

"I am sorry, Lucien. I will take care of you until you recover."

"What? Me too!" Adrian started to get up, but froze when Lucien sneezed again.

He made a face and recoiled a little. "Ugh. I don’t want to get infected."

Lucien knew exactly what that meant. Adrian might look loud and chaotic, but he was annoyingly tidy.

He hated bacteria, hated mess, hated anything that could make him dirty. The only exception was sex, where his standards magically disappeared and he had no problem taking Lucien in a filthy hunting cabin like a beast.

Truly a selective neatnik.

"I will help," Edmund said, rising from the sofa.

Lucien raised a hand to stop him. "No. If too many of you stay in this room it will end with someone shoving me into the mattress again."

"And I still hate you, Edmund. The five meter rule still applies."

Edmund froze. His eyes widened and his shoulders slowly dropped, the way a leopard might sulk after being denied a treat. He looked genuinely wounded.

Silas stepped in and gathered the tissues scattered on the floor without a hint of disgust.

"I will stay here and prepare soup. I already had a flu shot, so I will be fine. You two should get out."

That tone was the exact tone of a man who believed he had just won something.

Lucien rolled his eyes at how pleased Silas looked, while Adrian and Edmund slumped out of the room in defeat.

Silas guided Lucien back onto the bed with a soft push. "Rest. I will bring soup soon. You need warmth and sleep."

Lucien watched him leave and felt a small, tired smile form. This was exactly why he liked being with Silas. The man was steady, mature, and endlessly patient.

He knew how to take care of people, just like he always had.

Lucien’s mind drifted to the past, when Silas and Adrian had fallen sick together.

He had been the one bustling around like their responsible older brother, changing their sweaty clothes, wiping their faces, putting cold clothes on their foreheads, feeding them warm rice porridge they complained about but still ate.

It felt strangely nice, being the mature one for once.

And then, when they finally recovered, he had gotten sick right after.

"Now I can’t believe he is the one taking care of me," Lucien murmured, a soft laugh leaving him.

His eyes slid shut, heavy and warm, and the fever finally pulled him under.

***

"Lucien, why are you the one who is sick now? This is my fault. You should not have taken care of me," Silas said, standing stiffly at the edge of the bed. Adrian was already crying as if Lucien might die any second.

Lucien’s breath came out ragged from the cold and the ache in his chest, but he still managed a tired smile.

"What are you two crying about? I am fine. I will get better soon."

"But Gio said you have asthma and you will die!" Adrian burst into louder sobs, choking on every word.

Silas rubbed his back, trying to calm him down, though his own eyes were glossy.

"Gio is a liar," Lucien said, annoyed even in fever.

"I don’t have asthma. Maybe some symptoms, but not the disease. Anyway, I am fine. You two should not be here or you will get sick again."

"No," Silas said, voice firm as he sat down on the mattress. "We are here to give you a spell so you will heal."

"A spell?"

Adrian nodded with all the confidence in the world. "Our sister in the brothel said that if you sing this melody, you will get healed."

Lucien stared, exhausted. "Fine. Sing it and then leave."

They both nodded seriously and began their serenade. Their voices were terrible. Both of them were catastrophically tone deaf, but they sang their hearts out anyway, and Lucien listened to every off-key note until the final line.

Somehow it was peaceful. It tugged at a memory of his mother’s lullaby, and for the first time that night, he finally slipped into a gentle sleep.

***

"Hmmm, hmmm."

Lucien stirred. His eyes fluttered open at the sound of someone humming the same melody.

The same person who had once butchered it was now sitting behind him, fingers brushing slowly through his hair, rubbing his scalp in slow circles that made sleep tug at him again.

"Sleep tight, Lucien, and get healthy again so we can play with you," Silas whispered near his ear.

Lucien let out a soft laugh. "You are still bad at singing. Honestly, that’s funny you can do a lot of thing but not sing."

Silas froze before his face softened into a warm smile. He leaned down and kissed Lucien’s temple.

"I know. But it is a little better, is it not?"

"Yeah. Just a bit."

There was a pause. Silas hesitated, then spoke quietly. "I am glad you remember us again."

His voice trembled. "Do not leave us again, Lucien. Do not abandon us."

Lucien didn’t reply. Sleep had already wrapped around him again, gentle and warm. In his dream he walked through a vast field of flowers, the melody still echoing in the air.

At the edge of the clearing stood a man with long red hair, waiting with open arms for him to return to him.