Han waited outside as usual, scanning the path to Jet's house, hoping to catch a glimpse of him. However, as the minutes ticked by and Jet never appeared, Han let out a quiet sigh. He didn't think much of it and headed back home to his work as a carpenter, crafting tools and furniture to prepare for the colder months. Herbs were scarce in late autumn, and his focus had shifted to more practical tasks.
The next day, Han returned to his usual spot, waiting for Jet again. Hours passed, but there was still no sign of him. He furrowed his brows, a twinge of worry surfacing, though he tried to brush it aside. Turning back toward his own home, he muttered under his breath, "Maybe tomorrow."
Meanwhile, Jet lay in his bed, his body weak and feverish from his cycle. The pounding in his head was relentless, his heartbeat echoing in his ears. The house servants, careful not to disturb him too much, left his meals outside his door. He struggled to walk but managed to shuffle over, taking small bites to sustain himself.
As Jet sat on his bed, finishing his bowl of medicine, his mind drifted to Han. He knew Han was probably waiting for him, standing out there in the cold. Guilt gnawed at him, but the waves of exhaustion and heat left him too drained to move.
Crawling toward the window, Jet peeked outside. The sky was overcast, and the breeze rattled the trees, but there was no sign of Han. Even so, he closed his eyes and leaned against the wooden frame, imagining Han standing in his usual spot.
"I'm sorry," Jet whispered to the empty air, his voice hoarse. "Just a few more days."
He pulled himself back toward the warmth of his blankets, hoping Han would understand.
—-
The third day came, and Han once again stood outside Jet's usual path. The crisp autumn air bit at his skin, but he waited patiently, scanning the road for any sign of him. When the sun began to dip below the horizon and the faint sounds of the village winding down for the evening reached him, Han's worry solidified into something heavier.
"Where could he be?" Han muttered, gripping the bamboo sword he had brought with him. He had planned to teach Jet something new today. The thought of Jet's smile made his chest tighten.
He turned reluctantly, walking back toward his small home. His tools lay scattered on the table, a chair he had been carving half-finished beside them. Yet he couldn't focus. For hours, he sat staring at the smooth grains of wood, his mind drifting to Jet.
"Maybe he's busy," he reasoned, though the unease gnawed at him. Jet had never skipped this many days before.
—-
The fourth day of Jet's heat cycle dragged on. His fever ebbed and flowed, leaving him too weak to do much more than lie still. The medicine helped little, and every movement sent sharp pangs through his body.
He opened his eyes, staring at the ceiling beams of his room. His thoughts wandered to Han again, imagining him standing outside, waiting. Jet clenched his hands into fists, frustrated at his own helplessness.
"I should've told him," Jet whispered, his voice dry and scratchy. "He must think I'm avoiding him."
Forcing himself to sit up, he looked toward the window. The world outside seemed distant, unreachable. He wanted to see Han, to explain, but his body betrayed him. Even crawling to the window had become a monumental task.
Jet let out a shaky breath and leaned back against the pillows. His heart ached, but not from his fever.
—-
By the fifth day, the fever had finally broken. Jet woke to the gentle light of the morning sun streaming through his window. His body still felt a little heavy, but the worst had passed. He sat up slowly, glancing at the empty medicine bowl by his bedside.
He stretched, testing his strength, and smiled faintly when he realised he could move without his head pounding. "Finally," he muttered. His thoughts drifted to Han, who had likely been waiting for him every day.
Jet washed up and dressed, his body still adjusting to its newfound ease.
Han sat on a small stool outside his home, a piece of wood in his hands. He was carving mindlessly, his focus splintered. Thinking Jet was unwell, he didn't plan to go see him today.
Just as he exhaled a long sigh, the sound of footsteps caught his attention. Han's head shot up, and there he was—Jet, looking a little thinner but walking with his usual bright energy.
"Jet," Han said, standing up immediately. Relief softened his expression.
"Sorry for making you worry," Jet began, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.
"You're okay now?" Han asked, stepping closer.
Jet nodded. "I am. It was just...something that happens occasionally." He hesitated, not wanting to elaborate further. "But I'm fine now. Thank you for waiting."
Han studied him for a moment before nodding. "At least you're well now."
Jet leaned against a tree, watching Han carve another bamboo stick into a makeshift sword. The previous one they had used had splintered during their last practice, but Han seemed eager to make a sturdier replacement.
"You're really good at this," Jet remarked, crossing his arms.
"It's part of my job," Han replied without looking up. "Carpentry requires precision." He handed the finished stick to Jet, who took it with a grin.
"Alright, let's see if I remember anything you taught me," Jet said, holding the bamboo sword awkwardly. He tried mimicking the movements Han had shown him earlier in the week.
Han watched silently for a moment before stepping in to correct him. "Your grip is too tight. Relax your hands."
Jet adjusted his hold, his tongue poking out slightly in concentration. Han chuckled quietly.
"Let's spar," Han said suddenly, stepping back and picking up his own bamboo stick.
Jet blinked. "Spar? With me?"
"Yes. It's good practice," Han replied, already settling into a stance.
Jet hesitated before nodding. "Alright, but don't go easy on me."
The two of them moved slowly at first, their laughter filling the air as Jet fumbled and tripped over his own feet. Han caught him more than once, his strong hands steadying Jet before he could fall.
"You're learning," Han said, a small smile tugging at his lips.
"Learning to embarrass myself," Jet quipped, panting.
By the time they finished, both of them were smiling, their bond feeling stronger than ever.
As the sun began to set, the two of them sat near the edge of the forest, overlooking a village below. Jet was reading aloud from one of his books while Han listened intently, asking questions about the words he didn't understand.
"Your life seems so interesting," Han said after a while, glancing at Jet. "You've seen so much, read so much. It makes me feel...simple."
Jet frowned. "Don't say that. You've taught me so much too. Things I'd never learn from books." He smiled. "And besides, I like teaching you. It's fun."
Han looked at him, his gaze softening. "Then I'll keep learning. As long as you're the one teaching."
Jet laughed, leaning back against the tree. "Deal."
As the sun dipped lower, painting the sky in warm hues, the two began their walk back toward the village. Their conversation was light, filled with quiet laughter and the occasional teasing remark.
Just as they neared the village's edge, a sharp voice rang out, cutting through the evening calm.
"Han!"