First peeking over your shoulder, you stopped and turned when you saw...a man.  A handsome man with warm, twinkling brown eyes, a perfectly sculpted nose, and deep dimples lining the sides of his smiling mouth.  His hair was black, long on top, scraped back to curve toward the nape of his neck, while the sides were shaved close.  A dangling silver earring shaped like a lightning bolt glinted in the low light.  Curious, you stopped and stared, treading water.

“Hello,” he said casually.

A bit startled to hear your Romani dialect coming from the mouth of a man who, three minutes ago, had been a dragon, you paused before answering.  “Ande save vitsa?.”

He moved forward, and you moved laterally, keeping your distance.  He stopped.  “Changsha…” he said in answer to your question. 

“S’in Rom?”

“Yes, I am Rom.” Matching your movement, he slowly swum around you, the mist on the water parting as he circled.  “Are you here for me, meimei?”

“I’m here for my evening bath,” you responded coolly.  “Are you going to eat me?”

He gave a wicked smile.  “Girls here are quite a bit more forward than in Changsha--”

For the first time that evening, you felt your equanimity tilt as heat rose to your face.  “I didn’t mean--”

“--but who am I to reject your kind offer?”  With that, he bit his lip and lazily surged forward.

“Chavaia,” you said softly, “Stop,” pushing a little bit of persuasion into your voice.  For a moment, his eyes flared hot, flames burning behind his irises, and you worried that your gift wouldn’t work on a dragon, but then he subsided, the gold of his eyes, quickly fading back to black. 

A lazy grin tilted one side of his mouth, the dimple beside it winking invitingly.  “What’s your name, meimei?”

“You don’t need to know.”

“But I will,” he promised, smiling, the moonlight catching the glint of silver covering his canines.  

“What have you done to deserve the pleasure of my name?”

He looked delighted.  “If you just let me come a bit closer--”

“Stay there.” 

He did.  “Little Rose, if you will not give me your name, then at least satisfy my curiosity.  Why are you here...all alone...at night?”

“Gathering sedge for medicine.”

“Are you drabarni?  A healer?”

“I am many things.”

“Are you always this mysterious?”

“Asks the man who dropped from the sky.”

His laugh was incongruous with his face.  High pitched, and slightly nasal, it was just on the far side of attractive, but oddly, it made you relax.  “Would you like to know my secrets, meimei?  I’ll tell them to you, if you come closer.”

“I can hear quite well from over here, sir.”

“Yixing.”

“I beg your pardon?”

His expression was soft.  “The pleasure of my name.  I’m giving it to you.”

“Do all the lads from Changsha have such a silver tongue as you?”

“Don’t let the teeth fool you, my tongue is pure gold.”

“Does your mother know that you talk to girls like this?”

“Not at all,” he chuckled.  “Would you like to come with me and tell her?

“Back to Changsha?”

A shadow passed over his face, and his grin faltered.  

 An owl hooted in the distance, reminding you of your responsibilities.  “I have to go.”

“Do you, really?”  

“I’ve wasted enough of your time,” you said lightly.

“I’d like it if you wasted a little more.”

For the first time all evening, you sensed a hint of vulnerability.  But to stay meant to risk more than you had to give.  

As if it had never faltered, his gaze burned as rakish as ever.  “How about you take me to your mother then?  I’ll let her scold me while she makes our wedding plans.” 

Throwing him one last cool look, you unhurriedly swam back to shore.  The feeling of his wicked eyes was hot on your back as you leisurely climbed out of the water, and sauntered to your clothes.  Slipping your chemise over your head, you picked up the basket of sedge, put your clothes in it, and turned slightly.

He was still there, in the middle of the lake.  Treading water.  Watching.

With a self-satisfied smile you turned back, and headed for home.  

***

Locks of hair kept falling into your face as you rolled the mano to grind the sedge into the metate that Jongin had brought back with him after visiting an extension of your kumpania in Mexico. Pausing to wipe your hairline with the back of your hand, you sighed long-sufferingly, before resuming the work, rolling the long, thin mano over the stone metate situated between your knees.  A distant squawk of outrage filtered past your senses, but as soon as it clocked as Jongin, you filed it under things to ignore.

You loved Nini, really you did, but he had a tendency to be a bit...excitable, and you had a lot more sedge to prepare and store before you lost the light of day.  Bored, you decided to review all the ways the plant could be used.  “Tincture of Calamus, obtained by macerating the finely-cut rhizome in alcohol for seven days and filtering, used as a stomachic, to  increase the appetite and benefit digestion for the pregnant and elderly.  The rhizome can also be dried and chewed to ease bronchitis, or cough.  To relieve dyspepsia, the root can be made into an infusion or dried and chewed.  Useful in ague and low fever, either in infusion, or powdered, sedge is also beneficial as a mild stimulant in typhoid cases.  In a tonic, it helps with vertigo, headaches, dysentery and chronic catarrhs.”

A shadow fell across your outstretched legs, and two black heeled boots, silver spurs jangling, clanged to a stop, flanking one of your feet.  “Are you talking to yourself?”

Raising your head, and squinting against the silhouette darkened by the sun, you lifted a hand to your eyes, and the figure obligingly moved.  “Yixing,” you greeted.

“In the flesh,” he agreed with a little grin, his sharpish silver canines twinkling in the sun.  “I’m used to women falling at my feet, but this is the first time I’ve found one already prone in anticipation of my arrival.”  He looked even paler than he had in the moonlight, but before you could snap a biting retort, a squawking Jongin waddled up, scarf wadded up at his crotch to preserve his “dignity”, although--since he was still wearing his muslin long drawers--the point was mostly rendered moot.  

“Hey!  Give me back my clothes!”

You looked over the stranger--Yixing--from the tight black pants with red roses embroidered up the outside seam, loose white muslin shirt, carelessly unlaced, and short black jacket with the same roses dancing along the hemline and cuffs.  The sun shone on his silver earring, the gleam distracting you to the point of zoning out.  Suddenly, you realized that you were staring and, feeling the heat begin to rise in your face, you cut your eyes to an entirely unamused Jongin who was squaring off against the stranger.  

“Who are you?!  You know what--don’t care, doesn’t matter.  Come on,” Jongin made a come hither motion with his hand, “take them off.”

Yixing looked down at  where you sat on the ground, and then raised a wicked eyebrow before reaching for the neck of the jacket.

“Wait!” you called, holding up a hand.  “Nini,” you started, turning to the increasingly red-faced youth, “I’ll buy them from you.  How much?”

“Drabarni do you know this stranger?” Jongin sputtered, making the word sound like an expletive as he glared at Yixing.  

“Nini,” you crooned, smiling when his eyes turned unerringly to you.  “I will make you a new set of clothes, even finer than this...finer than any of our clan has ever seen, so let him have these, hm?”

Jongin’s shoulders relaxed, and he smiled back at you.  “Promise?”

“Do I have to?”

He beamed.  “No.  You always do as you say.”  Turning back to Yixing, he scowled.  “But I’m staying here.  I don’t trust you.”

“It’s alright, Nini, I’m fine,” you murmured.  “We’re in the middle of everyone, in broad daylight.  What could he do?”

“Still,” Jongin insisted.  “I don’t like the way he’s looking at you.”

“Ah, you mean the same way you look at Vano’s daughter?”

His face practically glowed with embarrassment.

“Besides...have you forgotten…?”  Delicately dropping your eyes, you looked at where Nini was still holding the scarf over his modesty.  

Squawking, he hunched, looking around to see if any girls had seen.  With one last cutting look at Yixing, Jongin scurried off, keeping to the backs of the caravans as he scuttled.  

“So,” you began tartly as you returned to rolling the mano over the sedge, grinding it to a paste.  “Shall I call you Clothingstealer?” 

“Should I have come to you , meimiei?  In front of...all of your kumpania?” Yixing clasped his hands in front of himself as he looked down at you.  “Would you have liked that?”

“Are all dragons this bold?”

“This?”  He chuckled, squatted down to your level, tucked a lock of hair behind your ear.  “This is nothing.  Besides, it’s that young one’s fault.  Hanging his clothes to dry in the sun like that…  A temptation for any man walking by…”

“Because there are so many of you.”

“Not me,” he protested with false offence before his face settled into an easy grin.  “I’m clothed.”

“Why are you here?” Yixing opened his mouth to answer, but before he could speak, you held up a hand as the sound of weeping caught your ear.  Turning your attention beyond Yixing, you leaned to look past a flapping sheet on the line that separated you from the rest of the camp.  

Noting the sharpness of your expression, Yixing leaned to see what had caught your attention.  “What’s wrong?” he asked, all flirtation dropped from his voice.  

“Sabina,” you breathed, scrambling to your feet, and starting toward the small, plump girl, whose hair hung in disarray around her face and down her back.  Patches of smooth brown skin peeked through rips and tears of the soft rose pink of her wedding dress, the broderie anglaise dragging in the dust.

Before you could reach her, her husband, Junmyeon--the clan’s blacksmith--ripped himself away from where he was being held back by a group of men before he swooped down, lifting her easily into his muscular arms as he strode toward their caravan, the girl’s arms clinging to his broad shoulders.  Swearing, you whirled toward your caravan, lifting your skirts and running, Yixing close behind.  

He stayed outside as you climbed into your trailer, pulling down bunches of dried herbs, and loading them into a basket with clinking glass bottles of various tonics.  Helping you down the few stairs back to the ground, he followed as you strode towards Sabina and Junmyeon’s trailer.  “What’s going on?  Does that girl need help?”

Stopping suddenly, you turned to him, frustrated.  “Jus primae noctis,” you growled.  

“What’s that?”

“Right of the first night.  As long as we camp on these lands, the lord demands that we observe his right to be the first one to sleep with all of our new brides on their wedding nights.”

Yixing looked horrified.  “Why don’t you leave?”

“Because he’s trapped us--bound us in debts and legalities.  The townspeople hate him, but he has hired men--from outside the village--that patrol his lands and catch everyone who tries to escape without reconciling his trumped up encumbrances.”  You looked down, clenching your jaw.  “Our elders tried to hold talks with the man, but...few of them survived his....debates.”  At Yixing’s dumbfounded silence, you turned, continuing on your way.  Reaching the newlywed’s trailer, you called out in a gentle voice, “Sabina, ves'tacha...may I come in?”

A choked whimper issued from inside and Junmyeon swung open the door, his mouth trembling, his eyes red and wet.  “Please, drabarni, come inside.”  

An hour later, you wearily climbed out of their caravan, noting with some surprise that Yixing was sitting there, at the base of the steps, waiting, even paler than before.  

He looked up.  “Is she…”

Your voice rasped as you answered.  “She’ll live.  I cleaned her up, took care of her bruises and scrapes.  She’s sleeping now.  I’ve given Junmyeon enough medicine to keep her asleep for the rest of the week.  What happens after that is up to them.”  You set your jaw, bitterness coating the back of your tongue.  “That’s the best that I can do.”

Face grim, Yixing stood, but stumbled.  

Reaching out, you caught him, recoiling slightly when you scented a familiar iron tang.  Pulling his jacket to the side, you saw a red stain creeping up the side of his shirt.  “When did this happen?”

He tried to smile, but it was more of a grimace, and you noticed that his skin wasn’t looking so much pale as ashen.  “I was actually wounded as I left Changsha…”

“You mean to tell me that you flew all the way here from China, wounded?!  And this is the first time you’re saying anything?”

Chuckling softly, Yixing reached to steady himself on your shoulder, pull himself up, before his arms crumpled, and he collapsed into your hold.  Breathing shallow, a sheen of sweat gleaming on his face, he slipped his hand around the side of your neck, his fingertips brushing your nape, his thumb your cheek.  “Meimei,” he said softly, his breath gently causing the tendrils around your face to tickle your skin.  “Can you...heal me first...scold me later?”  

Grumbling, you looked up to catch the eye of the first man you saw.  “Hey, Jongdae!”

“Yes?”

“Take this man to your caravan.”

Jongdae’s eyes flickered down, then back up to you.  “Ah, why?  Who even is he?”

“Then should I take him to mine?” you snapped with asperity.  

Grumbling, Jongdae grabbed Yixing by the wrist, pulling the man’s arm over his shoulder, and grasping him firmly by the waist.  “What’s your name?”

“Yixing,” he groaned, as Jongdae’s hand accidentally brushed too near his wound.  

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Yixing,” Jongdae chirruped.  Pausing, he looked down.  “Are those Jongin’s clothes?”

Twenty minutes later, you had Yixing stripped to the waist, as you prepared to clean his wound. He hissed as you dabbed whiskey around the injury.  “You’re wasting good drink.”

“Would you rather die of blood poisoning?  You have a fever and your wound is infected.”

With a grunt, Yixing snatched the bottle, tipped it back, took a deep swallow...and promptly began coughing.  

“Better stick with tea if you can’t take whiskey.”  You quipped.  After a few more moments watching his theatrical choking you frowned.  “Can you even drink?”

“No!” he gasped, voice rough.  “But this really hurts, and I was trying to be manly.”

“Oh, right,” you murmured, eyeing his red face and teary eyes.  “Good job.  So,” you started, tapping his lower lip to get him to open his mouth, before squeezing in a couple drops of tincture of willow, “How were you wounded?”  Dipping a cloth in a bowl of cool water, you began to wipe the sweat from his face.

“Crossbow bolt.”

“Allow me to rephrase.  Why were you wounded?”

“I stole a girl.”

Levelling a look at him, you sat back.  “Where is she?”

Still roughened by the whiskey, his voice rasped as he chuckled before groaning as the movement aggravated his wound.  “I didn’t steal her for myself.  She wanted to marry Luhan, the tinker, but her parents were pressuring her to marry Yifan because he was our kumpania’s best hunter.  So,” he shrugged, then grimaced. “I stole her.  Delivered her to Luhan’s tent where a lakhaj was waiting, who bound them up in matrimony, all nice and neat.”  Looking down, he gestured to his wound.  “Let’s just say, there’s a reason why Yifan is the clan’s best hunter.”

“Is everyone in your kumpania a dragon?”

“No, just my vitsa, though everyone else outside of my family knew.”

“Well,” you sighed, leaning back to look over him, “you certainly can’t return.  You can’t go anywhere right now.”

“You’ll take care of me,” he said easily, closing his eyes, snuggling against the pillow.

“Will I?”

Opening his eyes, he caught your gaze, all teasing gone from his face, leaving only a quiet, trusting certainty.  “You will.”

Days later, Yixing’s fever finally broke.  You had come, expecting to see him awake and ready for your checkup, yet found him instead, unconscious and stripped, with only a folded towel to cover his propriety.  Babas Goral and Mirga had apparently just given him a bath, but--according to Jongdae--had suddenly been called away to attend the birth of twins, yet should--again, according to Jongdae--be back any moment. .  Sitting on the chair beside the bed, you did a cursory visual check--colour normal, breathing fine, perspiration had stopped--all very good.  

“Jongdae, could you hand me the pocket watch, so I can take his pulse?”  Silence.  “Jongdae?”  Nothing.  “Jongdae?”  Turning, you found...no one.  Jongdae had left you in the caravan, alone, with--for all intents and purposes--a Yixing.  Pressing your lips together in irritation you snorted, looking out the window to see Jongdae following Vadoma as if hypnotized as she sauntered away.  

“This is fine,” you muttered to yourself, settling back in the chair.  Either Baba Mirga or Baba Goral should return any moment, as only one would be needed once the difficult part of birthing was over.  Crossing your legs away from Yixing, you looked out one of the windows at the setting sun, and waited.  After a while, growing bored, you lifted your foot to examine your shoe.  Was it time to have them cobbled?  The soles were looking a bit thin…  Surreptitiously, you cut your eyes at Yixing.  Still sleeping.  

Sighing deeply, you once more looked outside, but now  it was too dark to see properly.  Wishing that you had brought some stockings to darn or something, you crossed your legs to the other side, and once more glanced at Yixing.  

He didn’t move.

Stretching your neck from one side to the other, you folded your arms, and started tapping your fingers against your bicep.  You could leave, but then you would just have to come right back as soon as one of the babas returned to dress Yixing, so that you could check him over properly.  Bored, you began murmuring to yourself.  “Mint for nausea, willow for pain, ginger for sour stomach…”  For some reason, however, your typical trick of reviewing medicines and their uses didn’t distract or relax you as it usually did.  In fact, you hadn’t realized that you had drifted off until the silence rang in your ears.  You peeked at Yixing.

Nothing.

Holding your breath, you allowed your eyes to drift downward, before snapping them back to his face.  

No reaction.

Looking out the windows, and doors, you saw that no one was particularly close to the trailer.  Humming quietly, you looked away from Yixing, then looked back. And down.  One peek wouldn’t hurt.

You were so curious.

Silently leaning forward, you pinched the very edge of the towel between trembling fingertips and began to lift the cloth.

“I feel that.”

Shrieking you dropped the towel, and ran off into the night.

***

“Lie down.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Lie down!”

“I’ve been in this bed for weeks--I feel like I’m going out of my mind!  Yes, I’m injured, but I need some sort of stimulation, meimei!  I want to take a walk!”

You put your hand on Yixing’s chest, and gently pushed him back down onto the bed.  “Lie down, Yixing.”

His eyes momentarily flared a molten gold.  A soft smile touched the edges of his mouth, before he obediently laid back.  “If I stay here, then you have to stay with me.”

“And why would I do that?”

He tilted his head flirtatiously.  “You’re supposed to be my healer…  Would you leave me bereft of any mental...invigoration?”

Eyeing him sidelong, you cursed the night that you had ever let your curiosity get the better of you, as Yixing had become even more insufferable ever since.  “What makes you think that I don’t have better things to do than to sit here and entertain you?”

Yixing’s eyes cut to the window.  “The light is failing, and no one knocks.  I’ve seen the way that the kumpania relies on you.  You’re not the type of person to put off helping someone, so the way I figure, you finish all of your responsibilities and then come to visit me when you have time.  When the day is over.”

“Confident of that, are you?”

HIs eyes slid close as his mouth fully bloomed into a smile, his dimples deepening.  “You come almost every night.”  He frowned, eyes opening as he caught you in their warm brown depths.  “But you never stay long.  I wish that you would stay longer.”

“It’s not circumspect for a chavi to be alone with a man at night.”

He barked a laugh.  “Alone?  Please.  Can’t you hear all the babas slinking around the caravan, ears pricked to catch any sound of impropriety?  I’ve seen the way they look at me.  They would roast me on the spit if I so much as let my hand linger too long on your arm.”

“That’s right!” The low, quavering voice of Baba Mirga sounded from just under the window.  

Starting in surprise, you clambered over his legs to throw open the window with a gasp. “Baba Mirga!”  Motion out of the corner of your eye caught your attention, and you turned to see Baba Goral and Baba Holomek slinking just beyond the edge of Jongdae’s caravan--Jongdae following close behind.  “Hey!  Kim Jongdae!”

Shoulders hunched, he froze before turning to meet your eyes with a sheepish shrug and the signature kitten smile that had gotten him out of most scrapes you had known.  “What?” he said with all the air of someone falsely persecuted.  “I’m just...making sure that you don’t attack my houseguest.”  He flinched as you narrowed your eyes.  “I’ve seen the way you look at him, drabani, with your eyes all soft and googly--”  The old women cackled as Jongdae blathered on about swan’s necks, and white doves, while your temperature started to spike.  

“You annoying little--”  In high temper, you began to crawl out of the window, only to be yanked back by a pair of strong arms.  Losing your balance, you tumbled backward, to land full on a grinning Yixing.  

Fixing him with a glare, you pushed yourself up, and looked down where he lazily stretched underneath you.  “I thought that you were still injured,” you said, dangerously soft.

His eyes glinted as he shrugged, slipping his hands behind his head.  “I guess you healed me.”

“Oh…  Really?”  Smiling, you splayed a hand over his heart, chuckling when you felt it speed up under your palm.  “You’re all better?”

He nodded, his eyes darkening and his smile turning wicked as your hand moved lower.  

“So, I guess that you don’t need any more medicine?”

“I guess not,” he said softly, his eyes fixed on your mouth.

“And you’ve had enough rest…”

“I’m ready for something a little more exciting than bedrest…”

You leaned forward, “And your wound is all healed…” you whispered, slipping your hand under his shirt.

“I guess you have magic hands…”

“Mm,” you murmured, finding his bandage.  With a wicked grin of your own, you viciously jabbed your fingers into his side, poking your thumb into the middle of the bandage.

He howled.  

“All healed, are you?  Ready for something exciting, hm?”

“Okay, okay, maybe not all healed!” Yixing groaned, curling in on himself like a shrimp.

Matronly cackling drifted in from the open window, and you could have sworn you heard Jongdae say, “I told you, Baba Goral, she’s made of iron--pay up…”

“Oh, well, if you’re not fully healed, then I guess you’ll just have to lie there for a little while longer.”

He cracked open a gimlet eye.  “Woman, you are wild.”

“And therein lies the entirety of my charm.  Now open your mouth and take this medicine.”

“But it’s bitter!” he whined.

You cackled.  “Exactly.”

***

The wood clacked as you pulled back the reed to beat the linen weft.  Once, twice, and then you were picking the shuttle through the warp, and pressing down the treadle with your opposite foot to switch the threads of the warp before picking the shuttle again.  Cool water poured over your bare feet, making you squeal as you jumped and looked up.  A now fully recovered Yixing grinned down at you, empty bucket in hand.  “What are you doing?!” you spluttered.

Jutting his chin, he gestured to your loom, as he squatted to your level.  “You’re weaving linen, right?  I’ve been watching you.  Every time the ground dries, you pour water under the loom.  Baba Holomek says that it's to create a humid environment for weaving the linen, but she didn’t say why--told me to ask you.”

“Meddling old biddy,” you said under your breath.

“I heard that!” a wavering voice floated from somewhere to the left of you.  

Sighing deeply, you glared in the general direction of her voice.  “Of course you did,” you muttered.  “You’re never too far away, when Yixing is around.”

“Do you think she saw us?”  Jongdae’s quiet whisper caught your ear.

“No, but I can hear you!” you sing-songed.

There was a burst of rustling, and then silence after a moment, but you weren’t silly enough to think that they had done more than change spying locations.  Sighing again, you looked at Yixing.

“The water…?” he asked hopefully.

“Do you really want to know?”

“Of course!” he said, dimpling charmingly.  “I want to know all about everything that you do…that you like...that you find interesting...”

His eyes twinkled with such sincerity that you had to look away.  Clearing your throat, you once more began to weave.  “All textiles absorb or release moisture depending on humidity.  The act of weaving itself increases the temperature of the material, causing it to become drier.  If the air is very humid then the textile’s moisture content will increase, and vice versa--and moisture content has a direct impact on several properties of the fabric, such as elasticity, tensile, friction, and so on, and so forth.  A drier fabric is going to be weaker, thinner, more brittle, and have more imperfections. 

“By increasing the humidity of the air surrounding the fabric during weaving, moisture is thereby reabsorbed by the cloth, thus improving its quality and performance.”  Looking at him sideways, you saw that he still appeared to be listening.  “So what moved you to bring the water?”

Looking down, Yixing started as if he had forgotten the bucket that he held.  Vaguely shrugging, he looked back up at you and smiled.  “The bucket’s heavy.”

Snorting, you shot him an amused glance.  “I’ve carried a lot heavier than that bucket most days of my life.”

“Probably,” he said softy.  “But I’m here, now.”

You faltered in your motions.  Looking over, you saw that Yixing was smiling, while intently studying your bare feet on the wooden treadles.  Clearing your throat, you started again.  “Why are you always watching what I do?  You’re new to the kumpania.  Don’t you have better things to do, like explore the camp?  Get to know everyone?”

“I've made my greetings,” he said vaguely.  “Now, I want to get to know you better.”

“Didn’t you have enough of me when I had to take care of you all those weeks?  What, you miss the taste of bitter medicine?”

“More like...the hand that administered it.”

“Yes, well…”  Faltering for any way to change the topic, as you felt your face heat, you waved him away.  “Another bucket of water, if you please!”

***

Your heart lurched in your chest as the pounding on your door awoke you from a sound sleep.  Breathing heavily, you silently lay in bed until a familiar voice called out, “Drabarni, please, it’s Junmyeon, wake up!”

Quickly sitting up, you turned to pull a shawl onto your shoulders to cover your nightshift, before opening the window beside your bed, and leaning out, your long braid flopping against your chest.    “Junmyeon!  What is it?”

“It’s Yeonseok.  It’s blood poisoning--please--come quickly!”

Nodding once, you climbed back inside and quickly dressed before grabbing your deerskin bag of necessities, flinging open the door, and following Junmyeon into the night.  You caught a glimpse of Jongdae’s shocked face hanging outside of his window as you ran by his caravan toward Yeonseok’s, animalistic howls ringing through the night from the only caravan in the camp with lights blazing, though it was the dead of night.

Junmyeon ran inside and you followed, but immediately drew up short at the scene beyond the door.  Chanyeol and Minseok were struggling to hold down Yeonseok’s spastically writhing limbs, while Jongin and Kyungsoo clasped a sobbing Sehun, seemingly keeping him from going toward his elder brother.  Turning back to Yeonseok, you frowned, putting down your bag and approaching slowly.  “When did this start?”

“Within the last twenty minutes, or so,” Minseok answered, grimacing as one of Yeonseok’s heavily muscled arms almost broke free.  “My woman heard the commotion and woke me up, and I came to find Yeonseok like this, with Sehun trying to calm him.  It would appear as if he has developed blood poisoning after all.”

Mouth turned down, you held your breath as your stomach flipped.  

This wasn’t blood poisoning.