"The Nurse Who Stayed"
The sterile calm of the hospital room was broken only by the gentle beeping of monitors and the occasional shuffle of bed linens. The morning light filtered through frosted windows, casting a pale, silvery glow across the floor.
The door eased open with a hush.
She stepped in — the nurse from before.
Her violet hair cascaded like winter dusk, soft and fluid as it caught the light. Pale skin, nearly translucent, seemed carved from ice itself, and yet there was nothing cold about her presence. Her eyes—deep violet, endless as a northern night—locked onto Atiya instantly.
She moved with the grace of silence itself, each step measured, every motion a whisper. Her crisp nurse's dress swayed softly, trimmed in muted lilac, a sharp but elegant contrast against her snow-white stockings and insulated shoes. The ice crystal emblem on her cap gleamed faintly with a magic neither hostile nor welcoming—simply… distant.
Atiya stirred beneath his blanket.
The nurse's voice was low, comforting, and calm.
> "You're awake. Do you feel any pain? Nausea? Trouble breathing?"
She was already at his side, placing two gloved fingers against his wrist.
Blood pressure. Pulse. Temperature. Eyes.
She worked quickly but thoroughly. A flick of her wrist activated a diagnostic panel. She watched the vitals closely, violet eyes narrowing slightly.
> "Your readings are stable. Minor dehydration. Slight elevated stress markers. Muscle strain in the lower thoracic region. No signs of lingering void corruption."
She leaned closer, tilting his chin gently.
> "Can you tell me your name?"
Atiya blinked, then grinned.
> "You already know."
She didn't return the smile. "Say it."
> "Atiya Yaisha. Scourge of teachers. Beloved nightmare of ANSEP dorm supervisors."
Her lip twitched. Almost a smile.
> "And do you know where you are?"
> "Heaven, clearly. You've got angels with ice-hair working bedside now."
A pause.
> "You're at Sector-11 Medical. Intensive Wing. You collapsed due to severe energy drainage, followed by a temporary shinsu core destabilization. Do you recall anything unusual before you lost consciousness?"
> "I remember petals. And frost. And the sound of a very annoyed girl yelling at spirits."
The nurse's eyes flicked to the side — toward the chair by the window.
Zelaine still slept, curled up in her seat, arms crossed, blanket draped across her chest. Her head lolled gently, silver hair hiding part of her face.
> "She didn't leave your side," the nurse said softly.
Atiya tilted his head. "Really."
> "Not once."
He sighed, then smirked faintly.
> "She's obsessed with me. You wouldn't believe it. Threatens to kill herself if I don't look at her for three seconds. Says she'll set the whole hospital on fire if I call someone else pretty."
The nurse raised an eyebrow. "Hm."
> "Totally unhinged. But I can't help it. I'm cursed with handsomeness and mysterious brooding energy."
Her fingers paused above the control panel, then resumed. "I see."
He looked at her sidelong.
> "Do you believe me?"
> "It's not my job to diagnose delusion," she replied dryly, "but her refusal to eat, bathe, or answer calls does lend some weight to your version."
Atiya grinned. "Knew it."
She continued her checks, taking notes on a small tablet clipped to her wrist.
> There was something uncanny about her — not just in appearance, but in how she seemed to move between concern and detachment like breath to breath.
She finished her assessment, eyes sweeping over his limbs for hidden wounds or delayed response. Then, satisfied, she stepped back and adjusted his IV line.
As she did, the communication tablet on the wall let out a soft tone.
Message received.
She glanced over.
> "Araya. His shift just ended."
The nurse's expression softened, ever so slightly. Just for a moment.
Zelaine stirred.
She blinked awake, groggy and still recovering. As her eyes adjusted, she found the nurse standing quietly in the middle of the room—watching her with a strange, unreadable expression.
Zelaine flinched instinctively.
> "W-What?"
The nurse didn't answer. She simply smiled—just enough to make Zelaine feel both embarrassed and inspected—and walked toward the exit.
> "You have visitors waiting outside," she said calmly. "I'll let them in."
And with that, she stepped out.
The door clicked shut.
Leaving silence behind.
Except for Atiya, who stretched slightly under the blanket and muttered:
> "I think she likes me."
Zelaine glared at him, still bleary.
> "I think you're a fungus."
---
The streets of Ellejort were unusually empty.
A cold front had rolled in, sharp and dry, turning every breath into mist. Even the usual clatter of boots and chatter had died down — most people were tucked indoors, wrapped in wool and waiting for the storm to pass.
Penelope stepped out of the clinic's side entrance, tugging her shawl tighter over her shoulders. Her violet hair, freshly combed but still damp near the roots, caught on the wind. The pale knit dress and coat she wore were a far cry from her nurse uniform — still modest, still warm, but more relaxed. Less clinical.
She took a slow breath, letting the air sting a little.
> "You're late."
A familiar voice called out.
She turned.
Araya stood beneath a flickering lamppost, arms crossed, white coat flapping lightly in the breeze. His silver-white hair was a little messy, and the grin on his face was already halfway smug.
> "Shift ended a while ago, didn't it?"
"I stayed back," she replied flatly. "Something came up."
"I figured," Araya said, falling into step beside her.
Penelope didn't respond.
He took that as a yes.
---
They walked together down the main road, past shuttered cafés and the occasional vending booth still open. A layer of frost clung to the stone rails, glittering under the streetlights.
> "So," Araya said after a few steps. "What exactly came up?"
"Vitals. Observation. Minor drain feedback. He woke up briefly. Then passed out again."
Araya raised a brow. "And you stayed the whole time?"
"Someone had to."
"Yeah," he muttered. "But don't you have a life?"
Penelope gave him a look. Not angry — just the kind of tired that didn't argue.
He held up a hand. "Okay. Fair enough."
---
They ducked into a small diner still open on the corner — nothing fancy, just a warm place with wood-paneled walls and booths that squeaked when you sat. A bit old-fashioned. Real tables. No AI ordering.
Penelope sat without a word. Araya followed.
> "You look like you haven't eaten all day," he said.
"I had soup. Before lunch."
"That's not a meal. That's survival."
He flagged the server, ordered two plates of stir-fried root vegetables and spiced dumplings. Penelope didn't object.
> "Thanks," she said quietly, once the tea arrived.
He shrugged. "Don't thank me yet. I'm planning to charge interest later."
She sipped. "In what form?"
"Depends. Might make you cover my next shift."
"No."
"Worth a try."
---
They ate quietly.
The food was simple but warm. Penelope took her time, chewing carefully, occasionally blowing on her tea. Araya kept glancing out the window, watching frost creep up the glass.
> "Hey," he said halfway through his plate, "don't tell me you were really planning to skip dinner?"
"I wasn't hungry."
He raised a brow. "You're the kind of person who says that until they faint."
"I'm not that fragile."
"No, you're just that stubborn."
---
They finished eating. Neither seemed in a rush to leave.
Outside, the wind had picked up.
Penelope leaned back, eyes half-lidded. "It's gotten colder."
"You should stay in tomorrow," Araya said. "You look like a ghost."
Penelope smirked faintly. "Flattering."
"I mean it in a caring way."
She didn't answer.
Then, casually — as if it wasn't the first time he'd said it —
> "Penelope."
She blinked.
"What?"
"Just saying your name. You never use mine."
She paused, then looked at him.
"…Araya."
He grinned. "See? That wasn't so hard."
She rolled her eyes. "Don't get used to it."
"No promises."
---
They stepped out again, into the wind.
There was no dramatic goodbye. No big moment.
Just the quiet sound of boots on frost-covered stone, walking in step for a while before parting at the next crossing.
---