poor leila pt 2; stardew icon acquired! (or close enough)

[gumviolet]

Elliott glares at Fungus. Fungus glares right back, and the orange cat halfheartedly takes a swipe at his hair. Leila can't help but smile. Fungus treated everyone the same: with a perculiarly feline brand of meh.

Still with Fungus held out in front of him, Elliott crosses back to her bed, and deposits the ball of fur at the end of it. The cat's tail lashes, and it mews in a desultory manner before curling into a warm, purring lump at her side.

"Are you sure you'll be all right here?" He fiddles with the cuff of his jumper. Leila drgas her gaze up from the bed to read - uncertainty? - on Elliott's face.

"Mmm." It's a slow reply, with a drugged nod following. "Was alrigh' las' night. Marnie's comin' tomorrah morn anyway." Whatever meds Harvey had given her for the pain were sure effective. Her eyelids felt like lead.
"You can go, if you wan'." No point in staying to watch a woman fall asleep, right? She was fine.

"In a little bit." Elliott only felt a little bit awkward watching Leila fall asleep -- eyes fluttering as she tried to watch him, white gauze distinct against sun--darkened skin, before they slid closed and stayed closed, blankets rising and faling with each breath.

He'd not been there when Pam had dragged Alex and Harvey to the bus, dried blood on the palms of her hands. He'd not been in Pierre's store when Caroline insisted that she'd walk the new farmer home. He hadn't been in the Saloon when Harvey tried to burn away the memory of how pale Leila had been from bloodloss, how small she'd seemed.

And he found himself regretting it. Yes, he'd moved here to get away from the bustle of the city, but he'd found himself integrating far more quickly than he'd liked. And then there was Leila. Ex-JojaCorp, who'd found her grandpa's letter and made a change far more brutal than his.

Leila, who was learning how to sing again, loud and proud and not parcelled away.

And he'd fucked up. By not being there.

Fungus eyes him, tail flicking. Message received, you bizarre feline. He turns away, walks quietly as he can across the bare floorboards, skirting around the drum--block burglar alarm.

Elliott pauses by the door, and the small chalkboard that hangs by it. The day at the top is in Marnie's hand - legible block letters readable from a distance.

WED.
Plot 1 X
Plot 2 X
Plot 3 X
Plot 4 X
Plot 5 X

Coop X
Barn X

Tappers x
Cave x

It's a list of farm tasks, he realises. Water and harvest the vegetable plots, feed the chickens and new cows, check the taps for saps and the cave for mushrooms. With the edge of his sleeve, he reaches up and carefully rubs away the day, and the checkmarks.

It's hard to write neat cursive with a stublet of chalk, but he manages it. He nods once at the amended list, tucks the chalk back in the small space in the windowsill where he found it, and eases out the door. Cicadas drone in the darkness, which is broken only by the small torches Leila has placed along the cobblestone paths.

"Sleep well, my dear." It's little more than a whisper, but it feels alarmingly loud as he sets back off towards the beach. Sleep will be a long time in coming tonight, this he knows.