The infirmary was quiet, the guild's earlier noise muffled by the thick wooden door. Lantern light pooled across wood and linen. Propped against the pillows, Ryuji eased a breath; his bandaged side ached in a dull, steady way.
Wendy—smiling, though tired. "Carla says I should eat something... I'll bring tea for us too. Please, don't move too much while I'm gone."
She gave him a reassuring glance and slipped out. Carla fluttered after her. The latch clicked, and the room settled into stillness.
Ryuji's gaze wandered to the small window. Faint laughter drifted from the hall beyond—the distant clink of a mug, a chair scrape. His hand tightened on the blanket.
...I should leave. I don't belong here. Why do they care at all...?
The hinges creaked. The door opened again—quietly, without hurry—and Makarov stepped inside. His staff tapped softly against the floor; the chair legs gave a small scrape as he pulled one close to the bed.
Makarov (gently): "You've got sharp eyes, boy. Always watching, always measuring. Reminds me of another stubborn one we had here once."
Ryuji didn't answer, gaze lowering to the blanket. The guildmaster's tone stayed warm, not pressing.
Makarov: "I won't ask about your scars. Those are yours to share when you're ready. What matters now is this—Wendy stayed by your side, day and night. She sees something in you worth protecting."
Ryuji's fingers tightened on the fabric.
Ryuji (low, guarded): "I didn't ask her to."
Makarov's smile was soft. "No. That's what makes it real. In this guild, we don't protect each other because we're asked to. We do it because that's who we are."
Silence breathed between them. Lantern light caught in the guildmaster's beard as he stood and rested a warm hand on Ryuji's shoulder.
Makarov: "Stay or go—that choice is yours. But if you stay... this hall, these people, will be your home. That's a promise."
Ryuji's breath hitched. His gaze snagged on the door Wendy had used, conflict flickering beneath the guard he wore.
Makarov patted his shoulder once—fatherly, firm—and turned toward the exit. A chuckle touched his voice at the threshold.
Makarov (over his shoulder): "Think about it, lad. And for now... rest. That's an order."
The door eased shut behind him. Quiet returned, but it felt different—less empty, more expectant. For the first time, Ryuji's thoughts weren't only doubt; they tangled with something new and unsettling.
...Home? After all this time... could I really...?
Footsteps paused outside—the light, familiar cadence of Wendy's return—before the handle turned.
Fairy Tail belongs to Hiro Mashima/Kodansha. I only own Ryuji Kazuma and this fan story. Non-commercial fan work.