There is a man wedged between the tree's thick roots. He is covered in frost despite the spring air, and a green parakeet preens itself in his (literal and figurative) bird's nest of black curls.
He's a student here, I can tell that much; a bookbag that's probably his is flung carelessly off to one side. He's hunched over his knees, head down in his arms. Frost makes violent patterns on the tree bark behind him, on the carpet of spring moss, on the thick tree roots around him, all converging on his spot like he's the epicenter of an explosion.
The bird stops preening to look up at me when it notices that I've stopped in front of them, turning its head this way and that in jerky little movements. I stare back.
"Help!" it finally chirps. I blink. The ice doesn't phase me, all things considered, but… the bird is a little weird. I've heard of familiars before, I've just never had the liberty of meeting one. I know normal parakeets can mimic to some extent, but nothing about this situation suggests in any way that this is a normal bird. I guess I did pick something up from Supernatural Animal Studies class.
"Um," I respond eloquently. "…how can I help?"
"Dying," the bird croons, quieter.
I could pretend not to notice that. It's what I'm best at; I do it all the time with my responsibilities and things I'm not ready to deal with. This is technically none of my business. If I stopped and try to puzzle out every odd thing I saw on this campus, I'd probably be stuck in the Underworld or something. Messing around with things that don't concern you is a pretty stupid (and unfortunately common) way to die. At the same time… I dunno. There aren't any alarm bells going off in my head right now, and I kind of want to help someone else for once.
I weigh my options, before sloughing my bag off of my shoulder. Homework and the library will still be there later, and if I die, well… I never liked Fae Economics anyway.
I crouch down next to the guy and put a hand on his knee. Frost instantly begins to crawl up my hand, and my entire arm involuntarily sheds its skin and hardens into copper. My fingers… tingle? What?
He jerks and tries to scramble away from me, falling as his hand catches on a root. I barely notice; I'm still staring at my hand. I felt something? I've barely been able to feel my own body for years.
I shift my attention back to mystery dude, whose eyes are glued to my metal-ified hand. I ignore his look and extend my other hand, partially to help him up, but mostly because I crave sensation on my fingertips again.
"Don't!" he snaps, shifting further away. His back hits another tree, and his hair shifts long enough for me to get a better look at his face. Frozen tear tracks streak his cheeks, stark white against the dark tan of his skin. His eyes glow a soft, pupil-less blue.
He can't control the frost.
At this point, I should probably call Campus Safety, and get them to bring a couple of specialists. Even if this guy's loss of control isn't his fault, which it most likely isn't, he's still a risk to everyone and himself. Logically, I know this. Illogically, I can rationalize that bringing more people into this situation is a bad idea. Right? Right.
"Dying!" the parakeet screeches.
"Shut up," he snaps, annoyed and swiping at his hair. The action sends a cascade of frost out of his curls and onto his shoulders. The bird nonchalantly flitters out of reach before settling back in its perch.
"Are you actually dying?" I ask quietly.
"I'm fine."
"You don't look fine."
Silence, stretching on for a few quiet minutes. I sit across from him, leaning back against the tree behind me.
"Is your hand okay?" he finally asks, as if reluctantly. His eyes seem normal now, and dark brown irises stare back at me from behind his curtain of curls. "I got some stuff for frostbite in my bag."
"I'm fine," I respond.
"You don't look fine," he snarks, wary eyes on my hand again. It's already softening back to squishy dermal tissue, splotches of copper shrinking in miniscule increments with each passing second. It honestly looks like a nightmare of oddly shiny bruises.
"I don't feel it," I say.
He raises a disbelieving eyebrow. I clench my other hand and punch the tree root on the ground next to me. He flinches, but I just shake my hand a little and stare at the split knuckles.
"What?" the bird murmurs quietly, startling a laugh out of me.
"What the- Why did you just do that?!" The guy surprises me in grabbing the newly injured hand to look at it, but he immediately lets go when the frost races from his skin to mine. He blinks and his eyes are ice blue again, fear beginning to mar his features.
"I… I'm sorry, I just made it worse, I'm so sorry-"
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
