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yumestar19 · 4 years ago

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Can you make him confess... his sickness!?

When they heard Christo moaning, the demons instantly knew something was wrong. Even Red Magnus let his fist drop and stopped in the middle of his training to face his troublesome-looking friend.

"Are you okay, Christo?" Red Magnus asked with a smile that was too cheerful for Christo to look at, so he dropped his glance.

"I'm fine." He simply said, shaking off the sick feeling that made his limbs ache like... Damn, he couldn't even find a simile. He pushed two fingers against his throbbing temple, silently wishing for the pain to ease. Of course, this would have required luck and let's say luck was something he didn't have because his superior always picked up the worst horoscopes for him. His lucky word for today was "confession". Yeah... He wouldn't go that far...

As Red Magnus didn't stop glaring at him, (his stare almost screamed "suspect", Christo swore he had heard it), the tactician asked politely, "Why don't you continue training?"

"'Cause something's super wrong with you."

Christo's smile dropped, but he tried hard to make a good expression. At least, he had worn a smile for a split second, before the harsh coughing made him hide his face into the soft fabric of his cape.

"I'm fine", he mumbled, sounding less confidently than before.

"Ohohoho, nobody said anything about you not being fine just now" Seraphina's laugh hurt in his ears and he sunk deeper into the fabric, closing his eyes.

"But my, you really look pale", she said at least with a compassionate tone of voice that made her sound like a worried old lady.

"Don't you two have anything better to do than mocking me with your lame jokes?", Christo asked and looked up when he had made sure that there was no blush on his face anymore. Still, he felt like his cheeks were on fire and he could see on his friend's faces that they knew it, too.

That he, an angel, had come down with something only demons could catch.

A demonic sickness.

Damn, how he hated the small grin on Seraphina's face.

"If you are truely sick, then I may need to drop the "you're an angel" attribute of mine, because only demons can get sick, but you should know that."

Christo growled to himself. Why did this spoiled princess always twist the knife into his wound? Didn't he feel awful enough already? Wait, he just needed to think hard... Think hard, think hard... Damn, his headache was killing him. And still, he didn't know how to escape from the situation.

"You know, I don't know why you always mistake me for an angel. Do I have anything in common with such low creatures?" While saying that, he imagined the dumb grin of his superior and it felt so right to continue talking, "Angels are disgusting, awful creatures that will surely accuse you of anything randomly, like... They don't even have proof-supported reasons!" He shook his head like he couldn't believe it.

"So, you're calling me an angel, Christo?", Seraphina asked with a grin wider than the devil's mouth when consuming helpless human souls.

"Y-Yes, ehm no, of course not, no one's an angel here..." Christo looked around like he wanted to make sure. Sweat dropped from his forehead and he was now sure that his body temperature has risen to 200°C, at least it felt like he had developed a moderate fever. Damn, when did the atmosphere turned so hot? Even his throat felt sore and burned and it didn't help with the cough. Oh, when did he cough? He forgot to cover his mouth and yes, they heard it loudly.

Double failure: Usalia and Zeroken just came around the corner.

Now, he was ready to burst into flames.

"What's wrong with you, plip?" A worried child voice squeaked out. Usalia ran as fast as her small legs could carry her and she stopped sharp in front of him. The noisy scratch of the wooden floor made Christo grit his teeth.

"Nothing, nothing", he replied, keeping his composure. Of course, he felt fine. Of course, he was okay. He sense the alrightness throughout his entire body. NOT. (Expect you took away the bone aches, the clogged-up nose, the killing headache and the irritating feeling in his throat, but who would be so kind to stop his suffering? No one, of course.)

"You moaned about your pain a few minutes ago", Red Magnus reminded him.

Christo sighed and looked at all of them. Anger formed a knittering winkle over his nose. Somehow, however, he managed to not shout at them, as it was obvious that they weren't the cause for his malaise.

"Don't you all have something better to do than messing up with another person's life when they are in the middle of a cri... Critical thinking process?" He bit his tongue, surely he almost let the truth slip out. He shook his head and shook it again and again, until he felt so dizzy that he needed to steady himself with one hand on the wall. He smiled like the support made him look cool, when in fact, he looked like he was about to fall over. Zeroken rushed on his side and couldn't stopped himself from making an 'Awwww'-sound.

Of course, God hated him.

"Nawww, you look like a drunk."

"Have you got yourself a drink, plip?"

Christo was short before shouting that angels didn't carelessly drink (although he wondered if his superior had one glass or more whenever he called for stupid reasons), but he kept his mouth shut. There was the urge to cough, building up like a small fire that turned quickly in a major fire. How long was he able to resist? How long could he breathe? He heard the rattling, the little shakes in his voice when he spoke.

"I'm really... fine. Just a little... tired from... thinking."

'Or perhaps, a little bit too much tired from dealing with all of this disturbing non-sense', he thought for himself. It was then that he realized he was tired. Really tired. He could doze off in an instant. Of course, that was no option... Not here, not in front of them.

But this wooden floor almost seemed comfortable... He just needed to let himself fall on it, curl up and sleep. Every problem of his would be banned from the dream world. No pain, no cough, no sniffle, no disturbance.

He still had his pride though. That's why he didn't fall for it...

"Christo, you seem kinda pale. Better sit down." Killia advised him.

Of course, he didn't listen. He just focused on the voice. Had Killia's voice always sounded that soft and lovely like the singing voice of an angel? If so, he hadn't noticed until now. Perhaps, feverish illusions. He was fine with them.

"I'm okay, sweetheart", he said.

Wait... Did he just call Killia 'sweetheart'? Surely, the fever must have gotten higher. He shook his head and he immediately regretted what he just said.

"I knew he was gay!" Seraphina shouted half-angrily, half-victorious. How could a person be angry and victorious at the same time? It was a question that Christo never considered asking. But suddenly, he really wanted an answer. But first, he should clear the misconception.

"I'm not gay", he told them. Quietly. It was almost a whisper.

"You speak without confidence. I just found you out", Seraphina said, adding her usual Ohohoho-laugh at the end.

"I'm not gay!" Christo said now louder. It didn't help with his sore throat. He felt the fire burning. In his heart, too.

"If anything, I'm pan."

"Gay or pan, it's the same though", Seraphina told him.

"It's not the same, Seraphina." Killia told her. Surprised, she turned around and looked at him with her mouth open.

"And you consider yourself...?"

"Bisexual", Killia said with a bright smile.

Now, they were talking about sexual identity. Great. Christo really meant it. It was great that they didn't focus on his ill... He shook his head. He wouldn't even call it sickness for God's sake. He would go with "a little bit under the weather". Nothing several. Maybe, he should think about renaming it after his harsh coughing send him mercilessly down on his knees.

And the attention was back on him again.

He heard steps coming closer. Felt like a horror scene. Shadows were above him. The air was thick and it was hard to breath. He swallowed and it hurt. He clinged on his chest as the pain grew inside him. First, a little pounding, he could bare it, it's okay. Then, as the coughing started again, the pain was a cross over his chest, squeezing all the air out of him. Felt like monsters were laying their cold hands on him, suffocating him. He gasped for air. His breathing was out of rhythm, something between deep intakes and short outcomes. Almost like a panic attack. Was he panicking? He didn't know. Didn't want to know. The pain was the only thing he could focus on. And his breathing. He needed to calm himself down. Breathe in, breath out. Damn, why was something so simple so hard right now? Rattling. Didn't sound good. Should he sit up? Should he lay down? Was he able to move?

Questions overhelmed him. Unregular like his breathing. Uncontrollable. He was desperately trying to grab answers. Grabbed someone. Who was it? A demon? He would have laughed if he had had breath for it. He was safe. Maybe, he thought so. Safety didn't exist in the Netherworlds, did it? Why should he feel safe?

He pushed the hands aside with all the strength he could muster. His own hands reached for his bow and arrows. Could he make a hit in this condition? He wasn't sure. His finger trembled as he put them on the wooden grip. Sweat. He could taste it. Salty and bitter. He bit his tongue. The blood tasted like metal. Disgusting. He put the arrow between the arrow rest and shelf, then bend the strings. His fingers wouldn't stop shaking. Something awfully felt wrong.

The shadows stepped away from him. Scaried faces. Oh, he must be looking like a psychopath. His hair all messed up, his eyes red like blood, his pupils reduced to small points. Survival bonus. The tension of the string shook his body. He let go of it. Didn't saw what was hit. Just a sound similar to metal crashing. Then, everything went silent.

He smiled seemingly happy, then he crashed to the ground.

"Christo!"

Who was calling the angel's name?

It wasn't even his real name though.

"Christo..."

His name sounded funny. Was it a German word? 'Christ' maybe? Or did it come from the word 'Christmas'? He was born one day after the holy night. Coincidence, maybe?

"Christo!!"

Now, they were getting annoying. Voices calling out for a codename... Oh, wait, they didn't know it was one.

He was really dumb when being unconscious, wasn't he?

For the sake of not being called dumb, he opened his eyes, only to look into a burning light. He thought he was looking into the sun. Beautiful. Not really. It hurt.

He closed his eyes again, moaning. Maybe, rainy days were better days to get back to consciousness.

"Christo..." A quiet voice said.

"I wanna sleep", he replied, grabbing a pillow. He coughed softly into it. His throat still felt awful. Even more burning than before. He couldn't resist to the coughing urge, so he hid his face in the soft fabric, swearing to never let go of it. Somebody gently removed it from him.

"You need to keep your airways open" this someone said. It was Zeroken who put a worried glance on him.

"You really scared us, bro."

"I was so worried about you, plip!"

"Yeah, you made us super worried!"

"I'm glad you're awake." Killia said, even smiling a little.

"But you didn't need to attack us so suddenly, did you? Not that I was scared. I know how weak you are, ohohohoho!"

Christo looked up at them and met everyone's glances. Behind their kind faces worries lied. He couldn't even imagine how they felt right now. Maybe better than him. Maybe worse than him.

Maybe, they felt the same.

There was a call. From his superior. He didn't care for answering. Not now. He was feeling weak. Weaker than before. But somehow... Cooler.

He felt a cold towel on his forehead. Refreshing. He calmed down a little, he even relaxed. His thoughts were still a mess. He couldn't figure out where he was.

The underground was soft. A mattress? And there was a blanket... Though, he wasn't under it. He wished he did. He was shivering. Was it winter? Was there even weather in the Netherworlds?

No, he guessed no, Celestia hadn't snow either.

"Shhh, you are in the hospital" Killia explained while stroking through Christo's hair. It was a simple act, but it was good enough to calm the angel down.

"H-Hospital?" Christo asked weakly. He seemed to not know what it was. Something off the place. He shouldn't be here. He wasn't sick.

Coughing.

Maybe a little.

Harsh coughing.

Okay, he was really feeling down and ill and he had never felt that horrible in his entire eternity life.

His coughing eased a little. He put a hand on his chest in hope of finding the pain and rib it out. Then, he wouldn't need to feel it anymore.

This pain... It was cross-shaped. Though, he didn't know why he thought so. Just felt like it.

Someone put his hand on his. It was Killia. A warm touch. A wonderful feeling. If he hadn't been that sick, he might have smiled about it.

"Tell me what happened", Christo begged. He couldn't live with his ignorance.

"You attacked us, but you didn't hurt us", Killia told him.

"The healer said you had a high fever" Zeroken added.

"But a really really high one! Like... 41°C or more, plip!"

"A dangerous temperature for angels." Seraphina added. Her voice unusually cold.

"This was needlessly added" Christo said, "Cause I am not an angel!"

He coughed. Then, he coughed again. Suddenly, he remembered his lucky word.

Confession

Why was it so big in his head? The word felt out of place. It didn't sum up the story. Maybe he should just go over with it.

He opened his mouth, but he closed it in an instant. He didn't feel ready to tell them.

In truth, he never wanted to confess.

Especially not when all forces of the world were against him.

This couldn't be one of his lucky days. He knew it.

And when all of his friends were looking at him, troubled, worried, maybe even scaried, he couldn't tell them.

He looked away, breaking with all of their glances. He felt the rush of the fever. An energy draining and pushing at the same time.

He opened his mouth again. This time, words came out.

"I need to tell you something", he said.

"I'm actually... You see, I'm actually... An..."

"Sick, you wanna say?"

Killia was really a blessing. Christo just nodded.

It seemed like the confession took a little bit of his burden.

And soon, he would recover...

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thewhumperinwhite · 5 years ago

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Café: Roadside 1

Previous: Teaser 1, Teaser 2, Hospital/Squad Car, Empty Bar, Used Car Lot 1, Used Car Lot 2, Gas Station

TW for: Kent and therefore referenced suicidal ideation, Vic’s Creepy Vibes.

Between the medication-induced dulling of the pain in his wrist and the soft hum of the truck’s engine under him, Sol is kind of fighting to stay awake.

“You can check out for a while, you know, kid,” Paxon says, glancing at him sideways for a second. “I don’t mind.”

Sol shoots them a glare, but when he opens his mouth Paxon rolls his eyes and takes a hand off the steering wheel to wave dismissively at him. “Yeah, yeah, I know, I’m an untrustworthy shmuck and you’re ashamed to be working with me, I’ve heard the speech.” They sound— a little annoyed. They’ve been driving for a few hours now, Sol guesses. Maybe they’re grumpy. Repositioning their hands on the wheel, they glare out at the dark road in front of them. “Honestly, what do you think I’m gonna do, man? I’m driving.”

“I dunno,” Sol says, maybe a little bit petulant. “That’s why I wanna keep my eye on you.”

Paxon looks at him, out of the corner of their eye, just long enough that Sol has to fight down the urge to snap at them to just watch the damn road, already. Then they sigh and focus back through the windshield. “Okay, look, I’ll tell you what. If I try to act on whatever sinister intentions you assume I have, I’ll have to stop the car, won’t I?”

Sol examines their profile, to see if it looks like they’re trying to trick him. They mostly just look tired and irritated, though. “I guess,” he says doubtfully.

“And the sudden lack of engine noise will wake you up if I stop. Won’t it?”

Sol is— not actually sure about that. On the one hand, maybe not. He hasn’t had to worry about being able to leap awake at the slightest disturbance since he got his apartment, almost a year and a half ago now. On the other hand, there’s no way he’s going to admit he’s been spoiled by a year of living comfortable to Paxon Field, who clearly has no such disadvantage. “I— guess so. Yes.”

He still doesn’t relax, though, and Paxon, noticing, finally thumps their free hand against the steering wheel angrily and glares ahead at the windshield. “You know what? Fine. You wanna be exhausted and miserable tomorrow, you just go right on ahead, babe. I’m sure I don’t care what you do.” And then they reach for the radio and snap on an 80s pop song, though they keep the volume down, presumably out of respect for Kent, who’s been asleep for an hour at least and doesn’t seem to piss them off half as much as Sol does.

That’s what convinces him it’s safe to sleep, actually. At least for a few hours. The truth is, he can barely keep his eyes open.

He makes it through “Love Shack” and “Come On Eileen,” but halfway through “Every Breath You Take” he stops jolting himself awake and lets himself drift, finally.

This song’s so fucking creepy, he thinks, and sinks into uneasy dreams filled with teeth and eyes that drip with blood.

——

Pax waits twenty minutes after Sol’s breath has slowed to a steady rhythm, curled up in his seat like a little kid, before they pull their phone out of the pocket of their coat and send up a short, non-specific prayer to thank whatever deities might be listening that there’s still cell service.

It’s— actually kind of embarrassing how well they still remember the number.

“Hello?” The silky voice sounds kind of confused, and maybe a little sleep-heavy, so at least there’s that.

“You’re a piece of shit,” Pax says mildly, cranking the music just a little, so they’re voice will be lost among the synth riffs.

There’s a surprised intake of breath, but when the voice speaks again, it’s filled with a vindictive sort of pleasure. “My god, I never thought I’d hear that voice again. What’s the news, little Paxon Field? You don’t expect me to come to your rescue again after all these years, do you?”

Pax’s lungs empty themselves in a huff of mirthless laughter so hard they sort of half hunch over the steering wheel, the corners of their scarred mouth pulling up into a furious grin with the effort of not raising their voice. “No, I don’t,” they say sweetly. “In fact, just the opposite, sweetheart.”

“Oh?” They hear the smile in his voice, and remember what it looks like— all sparkling dark eyes and sharp white teeth. “Do tell.”

“I found something,” Pax says, trying to keep from snarling. “Something you’re looking for, if the rumors I hear are true.”

Silence on the other end of the line. Pax waited. They can’t fuck this up. They will not fuck this up. They’ve been waiting for an opportunity like this for too goddamn long.

“Have you,” the man says flatly. He doesn’t sound like he’s relishing the idea. On the one hand, the uneasy displeasure in his voice is like music to Pax’s ears, but on the other hand—

“Yeah,” Pax says sweetly. “And I think I’d like to make a deal with you, old man.”

Another surprised silence. Pax wonders if they’ve been too forward. Fuck this espionage bullshit.

“You would.” The man is taking his sweet time considering it, and Pax hasn’t even set their terms yet, dammit. “I’ll be honest, Paxon— that surprises me.”

“I’ll bring you—what you want,” Pax says, looking straight forward through the windshield. “And you can start writing the check now and keep adding zeroes till I get there.”

They pause again. Goddamn the old man and his slow-ass business deals. ...Goddamn the old man just in general, too.

“You want money.”

Okay, moment of truth. Pax does their best to sound defensive and a little ashamed of themself. It isn’t very hard. “Hey, fuck you, man. The world’s ending. I need enough cash to get outta the country while planes are still flying, and enough to settle on after that. If anybody can understand that, you’d think it’d be you. Don’t think I can’t smell your brand of weird science all over this, you fucking freak.”

The old man laughs. Okay. So far so good. “You flatter me,” he says, and he really does sound flattered, the psychopath. If Pax ever doubted that the bleeders really were some of his “creations,” this is all the proof they need. “Name your terms, puppy.”

For a second, Pax forgets themself. “First of all, you call me that one more time and I’m driving this fucking truck off a cliff with your cargo inside, you get me?”

Sol shifts in his sleep, just slightly. Pax winces, but the boy’s breathing settles back out quick enough.

The old man chuckles in his ear. Pax feels their lip curl into a snarl.

“Yes, yes, I’m sorry— Paxon. Your voice brings back such memories, a man forgets himself. Can you bring yourself to forgive me?”

Paxon’s hand tightens convulsively on their phone, and the other is growing white-knuckled on the steering wheel, but they fight very hard to keep their voice light.

“I think the fact that I didn’t kill your cargo the second I heard his name proves I’m the forgiving sort— to a point,” they say brightly.

“His— oh. Oh!” Pax frowns, bracing themself to hear whatever unpleasantness the man is revving up for, but then the voice in his ear softens. “That’s right, isn’t it? It’s been— too many years.”

“I always wanted a son,” the man says in a voice that makes Pax shudder all the way down to their toes.

“Want whatever you want,” Pax says through numb lips. “I want three hundred thousand.”

The old man hums. Pax has been real careful about that amount— high enough to sound real, but not high enough to be refused outright.

“What do you say to one-fifty, dear? I want what you’re bringing me, but there’s no reason to take an old man’s savings, is there?”

There’s an awful snakey smile in his voice, now, and although Pax fucking hates all these stupid mind games, they’re fairly confident that this is a test.

“Well fuck you too, then,” they snap, and make sure to brush their phone against the side of their face so he can hear them removing it from their ear.

“Alright, alright,” he calls loudly, laughing, and Pax releases the breath they’ve been holding and brings the phone back up. “I just wanted to be sure you meant business, old friend. Three hundred it is.”

Thank you, god. “I ain’t your friend, shithead,” Pax says sweetly, and allows themself a moment to celebrate their victory before the man’s voice pipes up in their ear again.

“Well, Paxon, dear,” he says. “Is that all? I know your— cargo— can be a handful. Tell me— is it giving you trouble? Perhaps I’ll have to scrounge up a finder’s fee by way of apology.”

Pax wants to squeeze their eyes shut. But they’re driving. So the most they can have is one extra-long blink.

“He looks just like you,” Pax says, and hangs up on the man’s happy sigh.

They drive in silence, faster than they need too, like if they press their boot down on the gas hard enough they’ll stop feeling dirty. It doesn’t work, or course— it never does— so instead they run over old memories like they’re picking at wounds instead, and then their hand tightens on the phone until the plastic creaks in their fist.

“Vic Michaelis,” they say, like a curse and also a promise. “I’m gonna take a bath in your blood, you fucking shithead.”

——

Pax almost jumps out of their skin when they glance in the rearview mirror and see Kent Graves staring out the window at the dark countryside, looking tired and a little ill but most definitely awake.

They slip their phone into their pocket— it’s been switched off for only a little more than fifteen minutes now— and shoot a grin into the mirror, hoping it’ll look more genuine than it feels.

“Mornin,’ sleeping beauty,” they say softly. “You sleep okay?”

Kent blinks slowly, first up at Pax and then down to the clock on the dashboard. “Oh,” he says, his pretty voice a little scratchy with sleep. “I guess it is morning, huh? Have you been driving all night?”

Eyes back on the road, they shrug. “Guess so. No big deal. Not my first all-nighter.” They smile up at the mirror again. It seems fairly clear that he’s just woken up and didn’t hear a damn thing, and their spirits are quite high at the moment, end of the world or no. They kind of like Kent in spite of themself— the longer they can go on being friends the better, as far as Pax is concerned. “I’m in a hell of a lot better shape than either of you two kids, anyway.”

Kent shifts, winces, readjusts his position to put less pressure on his broken bones. “I— guess that’s true,” he croaks. “I feel like we’re taking advantage of your kindness, though. We can stop for a while anytime, if you want.”

Pax grins at the dark road ahead of them. This far upstate, there aren’t that many street lights, and they haven’t passed a single other car in hours, now. It’s a bit ominous. Pax grins harder. “Naw,” they say brightly. “Safer to be moving, anyway.”

Pax has their eyes on the road, but they hear the frown in Kent’s voice when he responds softly, “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

There’s a pause. The truck rumbles along smoothly under them. They are getting fairly tired, actually.

“Hey— Paxon?”

Pax smiles up at the mirror. Kent is fidgeting in his seat like a little boy, his hands folded together in his lap. “What is it, sunshine?” Pax prompts, when he doesn’t continue.

“Can I ask you a question?”

Uh oh. Pax’s smile tightens a little at the corners, but they force themself to relax. “Sure, kid, shoot.”

Kent examines his hands for a long time, and Pax watches him in the mirror, their hands tightening on the steering wheel.

“Do you know this part of the state at all?” he asks finally. “I’m, uh— I’m not totally— “

Pax blinks, and then laughs harshly, startled. “Sunshine, do you— do you not know where you’re going?”

Kent shrugs, looking up at the mirror through his lashes. “Not entirely, no.”

Pax shakes his head, grinning. “That’s fucking hilarious, sunshine. Yeah, I grew up upstate, but it’s been a long time. What do you know?”

“Uh.” Kent laughs awkwardly, picking at his face a little. “Well, I—PAXON!”

“Wha—” Pax looks back through the windshield just in time to see an unmistakably human form crouched in the road.

“Fuck!”

They yank the wheel to the side without thinking and their head smacks smartly into the steering wheel when the car plows into and halfway through the guardrail, which causes their vision to go bright and starry for a few seconds. They feel Kent’s weight slam into the back of their seat, and mostly just hear Sol jerk awake swearing.

The occupants of the truck sit still for a moment, a little shell-shocked, and then the front airbags deploy.

“Aw shit fuck goddammit,” Sol spits, shoving the fabric away from his face. “I am never getting in a car again—”

“Did we hit her?” Kent croaks urgently, rubbing his forehead where it must have struck Pax’s seat.

“Did we hit who?” Sol barks.

“I’m not sure,” Pax says, reaching up to see if their head is bleeding. It isn’t, so far. “I don’t think so.”

“Hold on—what the hell are you doing?” Sol yells. Christ, that kid is loud. Pax winces— and then turns back to find that Kent is trying to push his door open.

“Now you just wait right there, sunshine,” Pax barks. “Are you out of your mind?”

“Wh—” Kent stares from Pax to Sol, looking honestly confused. Maybe he hit his head harder than Pax thought. “Are you? There’s a little girl in the road in the middle of nowhere! I’ve gotta go see if she’s okay!”

He went for the door again, but Sol nearly leapt into the backseat to grab his arm. “Hey— hold your damn horses! She could be crazy!”

Kent shook him off. “We can’t know that from here,” he snapped.

“You don’t even have a weapon, dumbass! If you keep doing dumb-ass shit like this you’re gonna get yourself killed—”

“Good!”

Sol freezes like a popsicle. Kent yanks the door open and stumbles out onto the shoulder. Recovering, Sol yells “H—Hey, dumbass, wait the hell up!” and runs out after him.

“God fucking dammit,” says Pax, and reaches into the backseat for their sword.

#whump #original whump #the café at the end of the world #betrayal

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healthbeautygoddess · 5 years ago

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How to Boost Your Immune System, According to Experts

Immune-strengthening moves backed by research and recommended by doctors.

With COVID-19 still a threat and the flu, common cold, and other bugs lurking, you want to make sure your immune system is ready to mount a strong defense and keep you from getting sick. “The best strategy at this point is two-fold: both prevention of infection and strengthening the immune system,” Valerie LeComte, DO, an emergency medicine specialist in Southern Colorado, tells Health.

With this in mind, we reached out to doctors and other medical experts to find the top immune-boosting habits they recommend to their patients. Some of these help block the initial infection; others fire up your system so you're able to get better faster if you do come down with something. All are simple and easy to incorporate into your day-to-day routine.

Eat foods rich in antioxidants

"While no food or supplement can 'cure' or even 100% prevent you from catching a virus like the coronavirus or the flu, some foods have been shown to help bolster immunity," Cynthia Sass, Health contributing nutrition editor, told us. Citrus fruits, red bell peppers, almonds, sunflower seeds, walnuts, beans, and garlic all have research behind them to back up their immune-boosting claims, said Sass.

Lisa Ballehr, DO, an osteopathic physician and functional medicine practitioner based in Mesa, Arizona, suggests focusing on color—think dark green, red, and yellow veggies and fruits — to help fortify your system with antioxidant phytochemicals that research suggests fight viruses. Aim for nine to 10 servings a day, she tells Health.

Work up a sweat regularly

Consider this the extra push you need to step away from the couch and onto the yoga mat: a 2019 scientific review in the Journal of Sports and Health Science found that moderate to vigorous exercise can power your immune response, lower your risk of illness, and reduce inflammation.

“Exercising regularly and eating healthy are the most significant factors for your immune system,” Timothy Mainardi, MD, an allergist and immunologist based in New York City, tells Health. Research shows that people who live more sedentary lifestyles are far more likely to get colds or other infectious diseases, he says.

The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) recommends squeezing in a minimum of 150 minutes of moderate-intensity aerobic activity a week, or 75 minutes at vigorous intensity. A 15-20 minute at-home workout, jump rope or jog-in-place session, or brisk walk around the neighborhood several times a week are good ways to work some sweat into your schedule.

Score consistent sleep

Maybe you're giving sleep short shrift because you’re overwhelmed by working from home while prepping all your meals. Or you find yourself unable to nod off because of the heart-racing anxiety so many people are feeling right now. We get it, but not prioritizing your shut-eye can have serious health ramifications.

“There’s an association with lack of sleep and getting sick,” explains Dr. Mainardi. Case in point: In one study, “medical and surgical residents who would notoriously work 100-hour weeks during their residencies were at a much higher risk of not only getting an infectious disease, but also reactivation of a past one.”

Also, don't assume you can just catch up on sleep after a night or two of staying up late or tossing and turning. “Research suggests that it does not offer the body any advantages over getting a steady dose of shuteye every night,” says Dr. Ballehr Remember, your body is busy at rest, and it’s designed to sleep when the sun goes down. (Oh hey, circadian rhythm.) “It’s during this time it repairs itself so one can arise feeling renewed,” she adds.

According to the National Sleep Foundation, adults between 18 and 64 need 7-9 hours of sleep per night, while older adults need 7-8 hours, and children and adolescents require even more sleep. Aim for the amount that's right for your age group, and try to be as consistent as possible. Turning in and waking up at roughly the same time every day is healthier than an all-over-the-place sleep schedule.

Wash your hands this many times

You've heard over and over how best to wash your hands since the coronavirus pandemic began. But it bears repeating, because it's just such an easy and effective way to prevent any infection. “Washing your hands is an extraordinarily good way of helping one from getting sick,” advises Dr. Mainardi. Plain old soap and water is all you need, but it’s important to scrub up for at least 20 seconds—the length of singing “Happy Birthday” twice—as the CDC says that’s the minimum time needed to significantly reduce the number of microbes on the skin.

But no matter how good your handwashing skills are, they won't help you evade infection unless you know when to scrub up. “You should do so before and after any type of risky exposure,” says Dr. Ballehr. In other words, after you pee or poop, as well as following a sneeze or cough you shield with your hand. Hit the soap and water before you prepare food, after caring for a sick loved one, treating a wound, or touching any publicly used door handles, knobs, switches, or surfaces, says Dr. Ballehr. If you hands are prone to dry skin, the right moisturizer can help.

Use the right hand sanitizer

If you can’t get to soap and water, hand sanitizer is the next best thing. Just be sure to take a peek at the alcohol percentage first. (Alcohol is the active ingredient working to kill viruses and bacteria.) The CDC recommends using hand sanitizer with an alcohol percentage greater than 60%. (In light of the coronavirus, the CDC also says health care professionals should use hand sanitizer with at least 60% ethanol or 70% isopropanol, two different types of alcohol commonly used.)

Consume probiotics

The bacteria in your gut may affect your body’s ability to fend off infections, which is why Dr. Mainardi suggests eating foods that contain so-called "good" bacteria, organisms that are beneficial for gut health. Fermented foods and beverages—think kombucha and kimchi—are chock-full of the good stuff. You could also consider a probiotic supplement, or incorporate these recipes into your weekly meal plan.

Just a warning though: it's not known if all probiotic foods and/or supplements are safe for some people who are immunocompromised—those with a chronic illness such as diabetes or HIV, or undergoing chemotherapy, for example. If you have concerns, check with your doctor first before taking any probiotic.

Get enough zinc

Dr. LeComte says the trace mineral zinc is needed by the body to make all of the different cells of the immune system, and for those cells to function properly. “There are multiple studies that show people with low zinc are more susceptible to infection,” she adds. The National Institutes of Health also associates zinc with immune functioning and wound healing.

While you can typically get the daily recommended amount—11 mg for men, 8 mg for women—through whole foods like oysters, red meat, seafood, beans, nuts, and whole grains, Dr. LeComte suggests considering a supplement after talking to your doctor and getting your blood levels checked to see if you aren't getting enough from food alone.

Limit alcohol intake

Moderate alcohol consumption doesn't appear to have any positive effects on your immune system, and binge-drinking (more than four drinks in two hours for women and five for men) has been shown to impair immunity in previous research.

“Alcohol temporarily increases the number of white blood cells, which are the infection fighters, in your bloodstream,” says Dr. LeComte. “But as your liver is clearing the alcohol from your system, your white blood cell numbers fall below normal for at least five hours. And while there does not seem to be any good data measuring white blood cell levels for smaller amounts of alcohol, it is assumed that even one or two drinks can blunt your immune system response.”

As for heavier drinking, a 2015 study review in Alcohol Research: Current Reviews described an association between excessive alcohol intake and a greater susceptibility to pneumonia. More research is needed to clarify the association, but if you’re working hard to stay healthy, it’s best to limit your alcoholic intake—or forgo it entirely.

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hollandroos · 7 years ago

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Heaven & Hell | Pt.1

King Of Hell!Tom X Fallen Angel!Reader

Summary: Who would’ve assumed that heavens little angel was the king of hells soulmate?

Words: 4.1k (That’s an extra 2k words added in the edit ok)

Warnings: Brief mentions of abuse, vulnerable reader.

Collaboration with another author but she deleted, so I took to editing it and changing a few concepts so bare with me! | THIS CHAPTER WAS EDITED AND REPOSTED ON 07/05/2019

"The prophecy states that when the king lays eyes on his gift, he'll know straight away. He'll feel almost overwhelming power flood his veins – coursing through every inch of his then crumbling form. She'll be pure, good and bring him to his full potential."

You were falling for what felt like forever. Everything was cold, then it was hot-, so goddamn hot and you swore that if it got any hotter you'd end up with third-degree burns and that was just the last thing you needed right now, wounds to go on top of wounds. Heaven was always warm enough to walk around in one of those ugly sundresses but never anything less, never cooling down or heating up in all of your time in the clouds but now you could practically feel flames on every inch of your flesh. It burned and you wanted it to stop– in fact you wanted everything to stop.

Out of all the places, you had to slip into Hell.

Damn hell where they plucked angels wings and questioned them to the point of insanity. Where your mouth was expected to run dry and if you were desperate enough, you’d rely on your own sweat for hydration. It sounded revolting. You could've landed anywhere on Earth, even the coldest place on that planet would've been better than this– at least from what you'd been told. From what you'd been made to believe.

You would’ve preferred to die by hypothermia instead of at the hands of a demon. Shivering, relying on blistered and split wings for warmth sounded better then being tormented for weeks, maybe months, some would assume centuries.

It was your own fault for slipping out of Heaven anyway. Heaven was perfect, streets lined with small, white houses with a bed and food and even the simplest of gardens to compliment the design. People always said hello when they ran past, bright smiles adorning their faces. it all looked perfect. But no one said hello to you, not a single person ever waved. Instead, insults were hurld at you.

Cruel, venemous words that you'd think would make angels grimace but not these angels.

You were the weakling, the ugly duckling-, though you weren't ugly at all, in fact, you were glowing, radiant and on Earth, you'd receive compliment after compliment when you wandered the streets against the rules. But heaven wasn't fair, it was torturous and the angels segregated anyone that had even the simplest deficiency which was rare but existed even in a place deemed to be as perfect as Heaven. Yours happened to be the black feathers that decorated the white, as well as the fact that you were the only angel in history to be born without a halo. Halos signified an angels purity, proved their worth but you-, you were so much less. A disgrace one may say but you had to ask yourself if they were just scared of you.

You struggle to get the chains off of your wings, the same ones that kept them hidden from all of the other angels. But they wouldn't budge, refraining you from stretching them out. Surely the drop wasn't going to be that long, any second now you were sure you'd hit the ground, blood and guts would stain the rocks and you'd be nothing more than a memory if the angels chose to remember you that was.

You wondered if they’d have a funeral for you, choose to remember you through whatever positive memories they had gained over the last however many centuries. If there’d be good food and dancing– no, you were fooling yourself. Maybe it was the fall going to your head before you’d even hit the ground. You wanted to laugh.

You rip and tug until your fingers were covered in a crimson that at this point, could only be coming from your wings but you continue prying at the metal chains until they release and your wings were free. It was like breathing fresh air for the first time or taking a sip of water after being out in the sun for days. They were sore after being confined for so long, the feathers rough and dry as they rubbed against your back but you willed them to spread, to breath for the first time in weeks-, maybe even months. The wind was hitting your body making you spin and if it wasn't for your hair being tied back you wouldn't have been able to see.

But if you didn't get them to work soon-, if they didn't start fluttering and working their magic then you were as good as dead and as the ground came into view your heart rate picked up and you desperately tried to remember how to to use them, but nothing seemed to work. If only you’d been taught how to use them in the first place.

Your breathing gets caught in your throat, arms instinctively going over your face as the ground was getting closer, your eyes squeezed shut so tight that you almost missed your wings making their way around your body, holding you in a caterpillar type form and when you hit the ground, your body was safe, no damage done but your wings, that was a whole other story.

They ached, burned and throbbed. Dry and fresh blood made it's way down your left wing and onto your dirt covered palms and you were almost too afraid to look at the damage, almost positive they'd be too mangled to repair.

The pain was too unreal, unlike anything else and the last thing you remembered was red, lots of red before your head slipped back and darkness consumed you.

There was a quick knock at the door, three heavy thumps echoing throughout the room making Toms' headache even worse than it already was and he groans loudly, rolling onto his side. Even that move, just rolling onto his back-, it made him feel utterly useless. He was a king for christ sake– the king of hell!

And now he couldn't even role over without feeling death eating away at his corpse.

The king was weak, growing weaker as the days went by and no one could figure out why. No healer in the underworld could work out exactly why their king was growing grey, nor why he could no longer step out of his own bed or lift the soup spoon past his own lips. His large, raven wings were dropping and the ends were turning an ugly grey. Any sign of his strength was slowly disappearing. It was as if he was burning out and people were catching on. He didn’t even want to begin to think about what would happen in Heaven was to find out about his illness so he did everything in his power to hold them off, while keeping his defences strong.

Harrison stares down at his friend, a look of concern on his features. This wasn't his friend-, this was merely a corpse. Nothing more. This wasn't the same man that'd ruled over the underworld for centuries, acted nothing less then ruthless and tough in front of his people whilst been a sucker for a joke or two behind closed doors.

Two men walk in, red and deep blue outfits hugging strong forms and dead straight facial expressions as they eye their dying king which to many would be a sign of disrespect, just to look their king in the eyes like they were but not two men as high up as they were. They wore no trace of emotion. Just how Tom liked it.

Emotion made his stomach turn.

"We found an angel, my king. Female, around twenty-one in human years. Underworld years unknown."

Tom coughs, not feeling much-, but a small trace of energy makes its' way through his bones, crawling up his body sickeningly slowly. It was chilling, as if his power were coming back slowly, but surely. Maybe.

Many feared the king-, well in the past at least. Now they stared at him with pity, some with pleasure as he slowly decayed until soon enough he’d be as dead as the souls that were deemed to spend eternity in the pits. Tom was once a powerful being, seemingly holding the world in his hands but now he was crumbling.

"Get rid of her." His voice was hoarse, eyes fluttering shut. That wasn't the usual routine. The angels would need to be questioned, prove their loyalty to the underworld and in some cases, he'd pluck their feathers which was an awfully painful experience. But Tom felt that he had no time for wandering beings anymore. As the days drew thin he only grew more and more impatient.

"Sir, we-, we can't."

Tom didn't like it when people spoke back. He was the king, after all, the king of hell at that and while he was weakening, he wasn't dead yet. He still had enough power to take the two of them out, have them screaming for mercy. Begrudgingly, they take a step back upon feeling his rage and their faces fall for a second from rockhard, emotionless and stone cold to scared for their existence.

The dark walls barely illuminate the guards fear, of both the man sitting in front of them and the girl that had turned up in their realm. He was growing stronger, life returning bit by bit and it felt strange.

With little energy that he seemed to mistake for anger, Tom sat up in the bed, silk black sheets pooling around his waist. He could feel it, running through his veins and down his spine.

"Did you not hear me? Just get rid of her! Do what you have to do." He commands forcefully. Tessa growls, her ears pricking up.

The second guard speaks up, taking another step inside the room and they screw their nose up as they intake the smell. It was grim. "We can’t do that, at least not us anyway. We’re not– we’re not powerful enough.” He takes a breath that he very much expected to be his last. “She burnt Jacob, he’s in the med bay right now getting looked at– or at least we told him to go. It was deep.”

"She did that to him?" Tom was confused. Fire was something that could be wielded only by the king himself, and a few other demons such as his right-hand man, Harrison. He'd never heard of a girl that could hold the flames and he was instantly intrigued, as well as slightly concerned that this could’ve been a trap.

"Yes, Sir. He tried to pull her up and when he made contact with her hand, she burnt him. Third-degree, sir." The man refuses to look Tom in the eyes. Fearing the god just as much as everybody else.

"That's impossible," Tom whispers, his raven wings coming to life for a moment. They flutter back and forth, something they hadn't done for weeks now. One of the guards gulp and Tom resists the urge to laugh. To cackle.

"I can assure you, it's possible. Chris and Mark were trying to obtain her last I saw but they were struggling."

"Who else did you leave there?" Tom boomed, ignoring the burning in his throat.

"Harry's there too, even your father, sir. They were the ones that told us to come and collect you."

Harrison furrows his brows, standing up. "I'll check it out."

But something was tugging at Toms' chest, telling him to go despite the fact that moments ago he could hardly roll over. Nimble fingers pull the covers back and his wings only seem to grow in size until the height is threatening. Even his guards have to resist cowering back in fear at the sight.

"I'm coming," Tom demands. The covers had been providing him heat because even in the very depths of what the mortals would call hell, he struggled to find warmth around the endless flames. What once bought him warmth had only brought him sniffles and sneezes lately.

Harrison watches wearily as his king–, his best friend that only two days ago, couldn't even get out of bed, clambered onto his own two feet. At least his wings were up again-, that was good, and the colour was returning, fading from a sickening grey to the audacious black.

It was as if something had happened. Someone had snapped their fingers or battered an eye and Tom was showing signs of recovery in moments and it worried his friend to no ends because seconds before the guards came in, they’d been discussing what would happen if the king moved on. Maybe one last burst of energy, he didn't want to get his hopes up.

Harrison grabs Toms arm when he stumbles back. "You're not well enough. Regain your strength first and let me handle her."

Tom practically rips his arm out of Harrison's grasp. Sick of feeling weak, incapable or simply stepping out of bed.

"Don't tell me what to do!" When the men both lower their heads, Tom lowers his voice. "She can create fire with her bare fingers, Haz. Something that only you and I can do because we’re gods. Let me check this out."

"Tom-,"

Tom grips Harrison's arm, not enough to hurt the boy but enough to tell him that he had this. His eyes flash a wicked black.

"This is the best I've felt in days, Harrison. Let me go. It doesn’t – something feels weird about this.”

So he did. Tom threw on his gear as best he could with tingling hands before following men out and down the corridor, deep, blood red walls illuminating his face as well as the fire that fizzled on either side of the walkway. The fluorescent light drew out all of the Kings key features even in the dark. With every step, the king felt power wash over him and soon enough, he was able to release his deathly grip on Harrison's arm and pop his wings into a defensive stance. One that would have the humans on their knees.

You struggle, inching back further away from the men until your back hit what could only be a rock. With sweat (maybe blood) sticking to your brow, hands shaky and sore-, you were sure grazes coated them, you speak with a shaky voice as smokey air fills your lungs. It was nothing like heaven, that was for sure and even your eyes needed to adjust to the change in setting.

"Where am I?”

Demons. You were surrounded by demons with knives that could probably end your existence in only seconds and your heart was now practically beating out of your chest, hand shaky as you gripped a stone, nails digging into your palms. You had fallen from one death trap to the next in only an hour and while you’d feared you’d been close to death before, this was unlike anything else. It was staring you right in the face, teasing you and you were willing to just get it over with. Begging for your life seemed useless.

"You're in hell, sugar."

The guard you touched earlier glared at you, with a now bandaged hand. His eyes deep, bloody red. He held his hand tightly as he growled and seemingly cowered away from you but didn’t allow the bitterness in his voice to cease. The other guards get closer to you as you sat back in fear. Before you could stop one of them, their rough hand grabbed your wrist tightly. If you touched them, they would get burned. They restricted you, another demon taking a hold of your other wrist, forcing you up and against the wall and all you can think is ‘help.’

You wince in pain as your back hit the uneven rock behind you. One of the guards snarl as you struggle against them, hands once again feeling red hot-, though you didn't know why. From a distance Tom hears a voice in his head that isn’t his own– it’s struggled and dry and he shakes his head violently, ridding of the thoughts.

"You can possess fire but you look so fucking weak." The man glares at you. "Not even worth it."

You struggle, warm tears rolling down your cheeks mixing with the sticky, crimson red blood. Daring to take in a heavy breath you're overcome with the smell. It was like roasting marshmallows in the middle of winter over an open fire to the point where the marshmallow itself begins to fall apart and the gentle, sickly pink can only then be seen between charcoal cracks.

"Give me a knife." One of the other demons growls, grabbing a knife from one of his friends and moved closer to you. He held it close to your neck and you let out a whimper at the feeling. You take a breath, almost gasping at a newer feeling that moves throughout your body. It felt strange...nice but you didn't know the feeling. It grew closer and closer and you let out a breath, feeling weaker as it did.

Tom's wings flutter as he walks down the dimly lit hallway. Harrison watches him carefully as if he'd suddenly drop to the floor, but Tom feels strong. Stronger than he has in ages and there's power running through his fingertips, magic possessing him. His muscles feel tense but still, he relishes in the fact that he feels strong for the first time in a while. He hated feeling weak. A weak king is a dead king.

"How the hell could she hold fire, how can she even touch it and be okay. " Tom mutters. "This has to be a joke." Harrison lets out a breath and follows his friend as he turns the corner.

"She's strong I'll give her that, I can feel her energy from here." He speaks. Tom tries to ignore the invisible pressure against his neck, like a knife or some other sharp object but he found himself running his fingers over the skin, feeling nothing there.

The men came to the scene, unable to see the girl at first as she cowers in front of three of Tom's guards but he could easily make out white, almost ashy grey feathers scattered across the ground only meters away from the hot, raging fire. The guard's faces turn into that of excitement when they came face to face with their king, ecstatic to see exactly what punishment he'd dish out to the intruder. It was sick and sadistic but it was hell.

"What do you think sir?" One of the demon's hiss holding the angel tightly, a knife to her throat. "Take her wings? I think they're too screwed for that."

Tom freezes in place, his eyes finding the small broken down angel who was a few feet away. Her eyes were closed tightly, her cheeks damp with the tears continuing to flow down them. She was broken, bruised and bloody and Tom felt his blood boil beneath his skin. What the fuck? Her eyes slowly open, meeting his instantly.

You feel your chest constrict as your eyes find the figure in front of you. The King of the Underworld, you knew that much straight away. It wouldn't have been anyone else possessing such great, bad and dangerous energy. He stares at you, and you watch as the tiredness and pain he held in his eyes slowly fades upon seeing the broken angel. His wings are huge and black, looking horrific to put your hand on. He’s handsome...very, very handsome. Not expecting that at all, you regretfully look him in the eyes before looking back down as quick as lightning. Being in the same room was bad enough, but you’d just looked into the eyes of the king.

You were shocked by the milky brown shade, expecting a horrific blood red or jet black like what the other demons wore but Tom almost looked human.

You swallow and in an instant, you knew he was the reason for the unfamiliar feeling you felt, almost like a safety blanket. The feeling that made you calm, even when a knife had been pressed against your neck and threatened to end you in seconds. But he was meant to be cruel and manipulative– maybe that damn feeling was just part of the act and you'd fallen into mens traps for far too long.

Tom stares down at the little angel in both shook and concern. His powers seemed to have magically appeared as if a spell had been cast and once more, he felt simply euphoric. But he wasn't too worried about that– actually, he was ecstatic that his strength was back and feels heat run to his fingertips, a small flame igniting in the palm of his hand and he plays with him for a few seconds, the rest of the guards looking on in amazement but Toms eyes then go back to the cowering angel with the wings that were as good as gone.

She had appeared out of nowhere and moments later, Toms strength had been regained. It reminds him of a story his father would tell him when he was a kid, one he heard night after night about the girl that was made for the King, the one that could make him powerful enough to rule not only hell, but Heaven and Earth.

The ruthless king's eyes are drawn to the many bruises and cuts as well as your tousled wings that were covered in your own blood, the bones bent and twisted and it was sickening but not something he wasn’t used to seeing.

After centuries, Tom was used to seeing injuries like this and worse, far worse. But it was as if a flame had been ignited in his gut when he saw those bruises and cuts on the mysterious girl that'd fallen into his home. Flames around them, lining the flooring pickup wildly, heat becoming almost unbearable for anyone that wasn’t Tom or Harrison and that was a sign that the king was angry.

"Let go of her," Tom growls, anger moving through his veins. More anger than he thought he could have.

"What?" One of the guards furrows his eyebrows, looking at his king with confusion.

"I said let go of her." Tom's voice got louder, "Don't fucking touch her." His guards let go of the small angel and she tumbles to the ground, a painful whimper leaving her lips. Tom felt a stab of pain in his hip and he narrows his eyes at the angel below him. It was her. His chest constricts as he moves towards her slowly. He felt strong, really strong and the ruthless man that was never afraid to make a dent didn’t want to touch a single feather left on her figure.

"My King—" One of his guard's start.

"Shut the fuck up," Tom mutters, moving closer to her. He leans down, his black wings brushing against the stone floor. A name came to mind as he looks down at her. Her eyes close tightly as if she was scared. Fuck, she probably was scared but so was Tom, each of his senses overwhelmed. "Y/N." Tom murmurs softly. Her eyes slowly open and she looks up at him. Tom felt lightening run down his spine. "Leave." He growls at his men, his eyes not leaving the angel.

The guards quickly scurry down the hallway with confused expressions, none of them daring to speak up.

"Tom—" Harrison starts when the room was clear of guards. He had watched the entire thing and was almost ready to scurry out himself after seeing his best friend act so gentle with another being.

"You too, Harrison." Tom interrupts. The blue-eyed god nods and turns, walking down the hallway, leaving the two alone. But he wanted to stay– he did. To him, Tom was still sick and vulnerable.

Tom reaches his hand out, moving to cup her cheek before she flinched away, looking at him with wide eyes. Tom didn't stop, his hand still moving toward her and cups her chin in one of his palms. She gasps at his touch, her eyes widening. Tom feels a surge of strength and something else run through him and he knows that it’s coming from here– a mere angel. He almost wants to scoff in disbelief. It was like all light had been restored and Tom could feel the power rushing through his veins and with every second that passed, his adoration for the angel grew.

"I certainly wasn't expecting you." He whispers, his touch moving down her neck as his thumb caresses her skin. "Why now?" He asked, seemingly more to himself then the crouching angel only centimetres away.

"Please, get it over with." She whispers, flinching away from him. Her voice was soft and fragile and just the sound causes another feeling of strength to move through him. Tom furrows his eyebrows. He sensed what she was afraid of before he could even ask. Her words are rough and dry, still she meant no harm.

Everything hurt and your whole body felt as if it was on fire but the second he touched you, his surprisingly gentle fingers caressing your cheek, some of that pain disappeared and was replaced by confusion.

"I'm not going to hurt you, my treasure." He whispered, wiping a tear from her eye. “Wouldn’t even dream of it.”

PART 2!

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