Page 8 of Growing Memories (Valley of Sylveren #2)

Chapter Six

Ignoring the pain in his leg, and his arm, and his side—his whole body, really—Ollas climbed the last few steps to the Grove’s residential branch.

He paused at the end of the hallway to catch his breath, gingerly kneading at his quaking thigh.

Perhaps stealing down to the greenhouse complex hadn’t been a great idea.

He shrugged off his bag, grimacing as the motion pulled at his injured shoulder.

He kept his fingers twined around the long strap so he wouldn’t have to bend to retrieve it later.

Chances were he’d end up collapsing on the floor and the sound would draw attention.

If Eunny was around then she’d investigate, find out he’d been trying not to, as she put it, “let me earn my keep, Nev.”

Which he was guilty of. But it had seemed silly to ask her to accompany him when he’d meant to just look over the materials Rai had brought in for the second trial.

It wasn’t meant to be a greenhouse tour.

Ollas hadn’t meant to linger. Eyes only.

He hadn’t unpacked the crates or anything!

But Zhenya had come in while he was poking around, and she’d had some notes on potential first exercises for the elective, and his ten-minute trip had turned into almost two hours.

He’d never realized how uncomfortable the stools in the greenhouse were. The stabbing pain in his leg and side ensured he wouldn’t soon forget.

Groaning, Ollas dragged himself the rest of the way to his door.

He opened it as quietly as he could, peeking around the edge to scan the open living area.

Empty. He sighed, tension draining away as he limped to his makeshift bed and eased himself down.

He started to lift his bag up alongside, but the battered canvas, weighed down with soil samples and a book he wanted to review, ended up on the floor.

He’d unpack it later. Maybe manage a quick nap before getting ready for the elective’s first meeting that afternoon.

His eyes fluttered closed… and snapped open as the scrape of a key in the lock reached him.

Shit. Whichever of his roommates was on the other side, neither would be happy with his morning excursions.

Despite his griping, Gransen treated Ollas like he was made of glass apt to shatter at the slightest provocation.

And Eunny… Ollas didn’t know what to do when it came to her.

He probably should’ve asked her to accompany him earlier, but asking for help, for her help—the problem was twofold.

His pride didn’t want her to see him as something pitiable, and how could she not when she was waiting on him hand and foot?

He was a walking reminder of yet another disaster that had befallen them.

A history that his cock didn’t have nearly so many qualms about as his brain did, because it was still so delighted in her nearness that it threatened to embarrass him at any given moment.

And to what end? She’d said she wanted to help because she felt bad; a friend’s guiltiness, nothing more.

The night she’d shown up at his apartment, that momentary surprise when she’d seen him undressed, it had been just that—surprise.

He was foolishly hopeful to think her easygoing nature could be anything else.

The door opened, and Eunny walked in.

“Hi,” she said, already starting toward the connecting door to her quarters. She paused halfway there, taking in Ollas’s disheveled appearance. “Where have you been?”

Ollas tried to haul himself more upright. “Nowhere. Just out for a?—”

“You were out doing gardeny, greenhousey things, weren’t you?” She pointed a mockingly accusatory finger at him, advancing a step with each word. “Without me.”

“No,” he protested, the word drawn out and weak and wholly unconvincing even to his own ears.

His good arm, weary from its morning activity and fatigued from having to do double duty, gave out. He lurched to the side, banging his injured limb against the shelving unit next to his bed. The wound pulled, a line of fire arcing along the barely healed flesh.

Ollas hissed in pain as he righted himself, clapping a hand over the sting pulsing outward from his arm. A trickle of wetness spread beneath his fingers. Probably not-so-healed, then. Great. Earthen fucking break him.

Eunny started forward, his name coming out as a startled cry.

He tried to wave her away. “I’m fine. I’m fine, really.”

“Yea, the blood really sells it.” She knelt beside the shelving unit and plucked up the bottle of healing salve the menders had sent him home with. She cast about for clean lint. “Please don’t tell me you’ve been re-using that.” She glowered at his bandage and its medley of colorful stains.

“Didn’t want to waste the clean spots.” Ollas tried to take the salve from her. “Eunny, you don’t?—”

“The Healing Hut has tons of the stuff,” she said, referring to the House of Syvrine’s healing ward by its more casual moniker. She unearthed a fresh roll of clean fabric and brandished it at him. “You look like shit. What were you doing earlier, trying to run?”

Ollas shrank back, shielding his arm from her. “Eunny, don’t— It’s…I can do it myself.”

She rolled her eyes, hands lowering, but she didn’t move away. “It’s manual work, Ollas. I won’t try to use my evil, dirty magic that I don’t even have anymore on you.”

“That’s not?—”

“Listen, I’m not actually saying this, but the gremlin isn’t wrong in calling me your valet. Did we or did we not agree to that kind of arrangement?”

“Yes, but?—”

Eunny tsked at him. “See, yes, we did. So, sneaking off instead of asking for help?” She thumped his bag. “Do I need to whack you on the nose with a scroll or something?”

Ollas’s mouth opened, but no response came out. He didn’t even know how to begin, to protest or apologize.

She raised the salve and lint again. “I know it’s kind of weird being sort-of roommates. You don’t have to like me being here, Ollas, but if I’m?—”

“I do like you.” The words slipped out, quiet and sure. Without any thought or worry at all. That part came after, as Eunny’s eyes widened, her mouth frozen open.

Heat burned across Ollas’s face, spurring him to babble on, “Living here. I like you living here. Being roommates, or whatever. I-I really appreciate it. You’re—” In a detached way, a warning bell sounded in Ollas’s head, trying to steer him to safer paths, but his mouth galloped on before his better sense caught up. “You’re a good friend, Eunny.”

Eunny’s mouth slowly closed, her expression unreadable. Ollas held back a despairing moan. His stupid mouth. Why did he have to say that…

“Oh?” she said, leaning toward him. In a conspiratorial whisper, she added, “Better than Gransen?”

A hoarse laugh bubbled out of him, and he gave her a weak smile. “You didn’t hear it from me.”

Eunny snorted, shaking her head as her eyes danced with glee. “Excuse you, but I’d like that in writing. I’m going to frame it and put it up over my door. No, his door. Humility would do him some good.”

She reached slowly for his arm, eyebrows raised in question. Ollas nodded, grimacing as he held still.

Neither spoke as Eunny peeled away the dirty bandage, though she did hiss in sympathy as she cleansed the wound. It stung, but Ollas hardly noticed. It was taking every shred of his self-control not to do something pathetic like lean into her touch and blow the relaxed air between them all to hell.

Eunny re-wrapped his arm. “How does that feel? Better?”

“Much, thanks.” Ollas cautiously rotated his arm. Still sore, but the fresh dressing helped.

“I can brew some tea that’ll help with the tightness.” Eunny stood up, gathering the pile of used bandages. “No magic, all from pre-made stores.” She stuck her tongue out at him.

“Thanks,” he repeated. As she turned away, he murmured, “Do you, back when?—”

The door opened again, admitting Gransen. He glanced between the two of them. “Why, hello. Am I interrupting?”

“You should probably clean up,” Eunny said. “You kind of smell like dirt, no offense, and I don’t do bath duty.”

Ollas blushed. “Yea, that’s, I’ll… Granse?”

Gransen saluted Eunny. “I’ll scrub him raw in all ? —”

“I don’t need the details.” She glanced back at Ollas. “Were you going to ask something?”

“No, just…” Whatever brief bout of courage had risen in him, the moment for it had fled. “Thanks.”

The corner of her mouth curled up. “I’ll be back to help you with your stuff for class later.”

I do like you.

Huh. Of course, he’d followed it up with the clarification of “living with her,” and then capped it off with the death knell of being a “good friend.” Which should’ve left Eunny feeling elated.

Those words were incontrovertible proof of progress.

And yet, she felt distinctly unsatisfied with them—those words, specifically—and couldn’t quite put her finger on why.

Disgruntled, she sat back in her chair to watch the rest of the elective students trickle into the classroom.

Zhenya had already been seated by the time Eunny and Ollas arrived.

She’d claimed two small desks at the back of the room, and Eunny was grateful for the distance from the front, meager though it was.

Sylveren had few large lecture halls, most of the class sizes being no larger than fifty.

Twenty was the norm, and their current room in the Grove’s classroom branch was sized to hold about that number.