Texas has a cold.

It shouldn't be surprising to her; everyone gets ill sometimes, and Lupo are certainly no exceptions. It's just.... it's Texas. Texas, who is always so brave and so stoic and so... healthy? Sora struggles to reconcile the Lupo log in front of her with the woman she admires so. She just looks so... dead.

"Uh... I brought you some soup..."

Normally, Exusiai would handle this sort of thing; she knows Texas the best of all of them, barring maybe Emperor -- though Sora can't exactly imagine Emperor waiting hand and knee on anyone, no matter how sick they were. The problem is, they've got work to do, and work doesn't wait for the sickly. Turning down clients in the present means losing clients in the future and all.

...to put it bluntly, Sora knows her place in the pecking order, so she volunteered. Not that she minds spending some alone time with Texas; it's just -- well, Texas is so out of it she doubts she'd remember anyway.

"Thank you." Texas rolls over, red-rubbed eyes blearly from sleep and tangled hair spilling onto her pillow. She rotates until she can sit, and then -- slowly, gingerly -- lifts herself up until she's leaning against the wall.

Sora thought it might be easier to sip at soup from a mug -- she's seen Mostima do it enough for the sheer convenience that she thought it might be applicable. Texas seems to have no trouble with it, so that's -- good. That's good. She's staring. Sora is staring at her.

She looks downwards, casts her eyes anywhere but the sick woman slowly sipping soup in front of her. It just feels weird to look at her like this. Like she's seeing something she's not meant to see.

Then she blinks again, and the mug on the bedside table, and Texas has closed her eyes again -- breathing slowed to a gentle, slow rhythm. Just like that. She looks -- a little pained, truthfully.

Without thinking, Sora begins to hum -- a soft tune, something barely audible, but just enough. Her body warms to the Arts she's using. She has no idea if it'll work -- healing wounds and illnesses are two very different things -- but maybe it'll bring her some comfort. Maybe.

Texas's expression stays the same, but somehow, she's back to work the next morning.

Texas is still hard for Exusiai to decipher. She never says more than exactly what's necessary; if she had to go out on a limb (and she doesn't, but she will), she'd say Texas is oftentimes lost in another world. Never can seem to catch her off-guard, though. Even when Exusiai knows she's surprised her, she can never quite get Texas to jump.

Not like Sora -- that poor kid could compete with professional volleyball spikers, the way she leaps into the air when Exusiai sneaks up behind her. Not like Croissant either -- she'd get a fist to the skull for the crime of succeeding. She wouldn't dare pull that shit on Emperor, though.

"Oi, Texas, you want something to drink?" Exusiai calls, from the kitchentte. It's just the two of them in, apparently. Sora and Croissant are out on some sort of mission, Emperor is out... somewhere, and they haven't seen Mostima in weeks.

"...sure," Texas says, softly, barely lifting her eyes from the book she's reading. 'Sure' doesn't exactly explain what she wants to drink, but Exusiai knows. Hot chocolate, no sugar. She has it all the time; when they're technically on the clock and they're not allowed to actually partake.

She sets the cup down beside her; sits down on the other side of the couch and turns on the TV. If it bothers her, Texas doesn't say anything.

It's some thirty minutes later that Exusiai realises her cup is gone -- she's long finished her coffee, but her cup...?

She glances over at the kitchenette -- it's been washed. Texas is in the exact same spot as always, but her cup is missing too.

Mm, she doesn't get Texas, but... she kinda gets it.

Closure is, probably, one of the few people in the whole world who’s able to see this.

Kal’tsit – Doctor Kal’tsit – is unimpeachable, to the masses. Three-day surgeries are not exactly common but frequent enough; she is never caught off-guard and she is very rarely surprised.

Which is why nobody would believe her, if Closure told anyone that every so often, she finds Kal’tsit collapsed to the floor in her office – locked, of course – exhausted to the point of her body giving up on her?

Closure knows she does something to her system. Frankly, she suspects it has to do with heartbeat. God knows what it is, really. The coffee doesn’t stop, though. She always, always has a cup in hand. Or, in this case, spilt all over the floor. Nice one.

It’s always the same mug, however. One Amiya gave her when she was little – littler. Feels whack to call her big now! Like, technically, sure, but also? Anyway.

It’s a simple ritual. Closure takes the mug, washes it, fills it up again and leaves it there before Kal’tsit wakes up. She knows who leaves it; Closure knows she knows. It’s not an act of secrecy, it’s just her way of being considerate.

Kal’tsit’s never liked showing weakness. She might not even be mortal. But she is still human.

“Here you are, Kal’tsit. Sleep in a bed next time, okay?”