Hazel - Fluff

The back door opened with a bang, the wind from outside blew a wave of snow across the apothecary floors. Hazel rushed in, wrapped head to toe in scarves and her warmest shawls. “Chickens secured,” she said, stomping out her shoes. “There are a few possums taking up residence with them. I told them in no uncertain terms that they would need to play nice or I was putting them in this weekend's stew. The possums. Not the chickens.”

I was putting the last of the wood on the fire, trying to keep the downstairs stoked, so none of the more precarious tonics would freeze overnight. “What about the plants? Did you need me to go out and cover them?”

“I cast a small warmth charm on them. Hopefully they will be fine. We’ll have to check on them tomorrow. It’s the wisps I’m more worried about, though. There are so many that were frozen midair and are now stuck on the trees like icicles.”

I didn’t dare ask if they were even alive after that. The idea of the little orb bodies hanging from the trees wasn’t exactly something I wanted to dwell on. “Well, if everything is done out there, we might want to head upstairs and lock ourselves away. It’s getting bad out there.”

She was unwrapping herself, letting her clothes dry by the hearth. “Do we want to bet if Milo is behind this?” she asked innocently.

“The fact that you keep mentioning it means you know something about that already,” I told her. She had been looking out the window all morning, and I was almost certain she half expected the storm to happen. Why she didn’t say anything was beyond me. Especially given that she had tossed in a free fire charm with every purchase this last week.

“I know nothing,” she said. “Upstairs?” She began walking to the small door, hidden near the back, making her hasty getaway.

“Did you sell him something you weren’t supposed to?” I asked, following her.

“No,” she said, a little too loudly. “No. Of course not. That would be silly.” We opened the door to the upper apartment, the smell of a hearty stew hitting us. I sighed, my stomach growling. The windows were frosted and the wind came howling down like a beast through the chimney. But the apartment itself was warm and cozy.

And covered in wisps.

“What the…?”

They flitted above our heads, diving and crashing into small lamps. Knocking over vases and tunneling under couch cushions. I watched as several of them teamed together to take Malcolm’s childhood drawings from the wall, rearranging them in a more ‘aesthetically’ pleasing design. As one buzzed past me, I couldn’t help but try and swat it away. It chittered at the action, diving close and slamming against my shoulder.

“Oh!” Hazel gasped. “Bad wisp! Bad!”

“Why are there so many wisps in here?” I batted another one away, ducking at their continuous attack.

“I couldn’t just leave them in the cold,” she said, jumping out of the way as three of them carried a large, struggling fern between them. “Like I said, they were wispcycles.”

“They are going to ruin the house,” I tried.

“It’s only until the storm passes. Then they will go back to the tree.”

I wasn’t so certain about that. If I had suddenly received the nice, warm comfort of Hazel’s home and then was suddenly sent back to a tree, I didn’t think I would go willingly.

“Hey!” Hazel shouted. Several of the wisps were inside the refrigerator now, getting into her jam. “I said no personal objects.” I watched as none of them listened to her, bobbing and weaving, their small bodies turning a bright magenta as they grew irritated with ‘rules’. There had of course been wisps inside the house before, but only one or two at a time. This was more like three dozen.

As the wisps started throwing the jam at Hazel and getting more and more agitated, I walked over, durcking beneath the magic field that was starting to spread thorugh the room. Every time the wisps shivered, they cast off a glittering film that was coating the furniture like goo. I picked Hazel up, awkwardly walking towards our bedroom as she yelled at the wisps over my shoulder.

“The soup is not ready yet! You have to wait!”

I doubted they were listening as I pushed open our bedroom door, pulling her inside. I kicked the door shut behind us as I set her down. Thankfully, there were no wisps in here. When I turned to look at Hazel, she had jam dripping down the side of her face.

“They are awful house guests,” she muttered.

I couldn’t help but laugh. The entire thing was ridiculous in a way that I couldn’t fathom. Because of course Hazel was going to be the one who brought wisps in from the cold, afraid they were going to freeze out in the storm.

Walking towards her, I took her in my arms, burying myself in the corok of her neck. “You have a kind heart.” There was a loud crash in the living room. “Too kind of a heart.”

Hazel groaned, banging her head against my chest repeatedly. “The soup,” she bemoaned. “They won’t even be getting the full flavors if they eat it now. It’s not going to be any good.”

Slowly, I backed her up to the bed until she flopped back on it, me crawling up on top of her. My thighs bracketed her hips as I looked down at her. With one hand, I reached up to try and smooth the frown that creased between her eyes. 

“I’ll go get the soup when you tell me to. If they can’t wait, that’s their problem. They will have to deal with mediocre soup.”

“That’s just so sad, though.”

Pulling the ocmforter over us, I snuggled in close, mindful of the jam. There was no fireplace in her room and while the heat from the main room seeped beneath the door, it was still colder in here. If this was where we would have to stay while the wisps caused winter wonderland havoc, than we would need to stick close together.

Manuivering us so we faced each other on our sides, I reached up, wiping the jam from her face.  “We should shower,” I told her.

She made a sleepy sound of protest, her eyes getting heavier and heavier. We had rushed around from the first sign of a snowflake. I had a suspicion, that she was finally giving out on me. “After,” she murmured.

I watched as her eyes fell shut, lashes brushing the tops of her cheeks. Her breathing began to even and she automatically curled deeper down into the comforter. Because that was Hazel. Wisps were ruining her living room and kitchen, a storm was raging outside her window most likely from something she sold to her best friend, but she was ready for a nap.

As my own eyes grew heavier and heavier, I couldn’t say that I disagreed with her. Napping was never a bad idea. Especially when I was wrapped around the woman I loved. As another crash sounded, I pulled the comforter up over our heads. We’d deal with the mess tonight. For now, we were going to sleep. Me, Hazel, and a lot of jam.