𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗥𝗘𝗧𝗨𝗥𝗡 𝗢𝗙 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗦𝗧𝗥𝗜𝗞𝗘𝗥 | the boys 2

𝘹𝘪𝘹) 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐘 𝐓𝐖𝐀𝐓𝐒

THE MORNING AFTER BLACK NOIR'S ATTACK

Was it possible he'd caught himself awake early enough to not be greeted by Guizmo for once? In that case, how was he awake in the first place, if there was no noise? From nothing but the coolness coming through the crack in the window, and solitary sound of his own breath against the pillow, he could tell it was too early to even consider getting out of bed. Nonetheless, he groaned with the opening of his eyes, blinking a few times to substitute the effort of reaching up and rubbing them.

The bundle of sheets only an arm's reach away uncertainly quivered, accompanied by an occasional strand of dark fluffiness, crinkled and knotted by the folds in the blankets and pillows. Although the shakes were unnerving, it was nothing new. The small vibration in the bed opposite helped his eyes blur into the morning haze, and gradually drift back into a blissfully unaware state.

Another hiccup. Rowan crushed her elbows between her knees, clutching and clawing at her throat. Every struggled breath escaping her lungs came out shaky, forced and sounded like she was trying her best not to scream. She endlessly sniffled and choked, and ended up bunching up her blanket to force it into her face. Inches of linen were soaked with tears and snot as she wriggled and rived around in her own sobs.

Above the blanket was fine, tranquil, quiet. But below the surface she was sweating, scratching desperately at her neck, terrified by how hard it was to breathe. Everything she tried to do caused pain - if she tried to sleep, her head pounded from not being up straight, if she tried to cough, her throat stung and throbbed until she was convinced it was bleeding and if she attempted to eat anything else, she'd rush to puke it up in the middle of the night.

Of course she knew why this was happening - but it wasn't like she could admit they really got her, or that she might actually need to see a doctor. She was not the weakest member of The Boys, and she would do anything to keep it that way. At least Hughie could do so much as chuckle without suffering chest pains.

Loosing control over the amount of tears and cold sweat seeping into her bed, Rowan let out a rather loud bawl and instantly grabbed the sheet fitted over the mattress. She was locked in a cage of exaggerated emotions: sick with betrayal of what she'd been told about her Dad, regret from launching her necklace into the sea and horrified by how hard she was failing to steady her chest movements.

"Oi," A nudge on her right shoulder caused her grip on her own skin to tighten. She held her breath, biting down on her lip to give the illusion of sleep. "What must you think of me to reckon I'd fall for that one again, eh?"

She let out a small moan and pulled the cover further her head, revealing her bare feet to the air which felt polluted by snow compared to the scorches beneath. The distressed noise let him know she couldn't talk right now, and also allowed her to let out a few more whimpers.

"Kiddo," He warned,"You're getting up. "

"What?" She cried pushing the cover back down and showing her shiny, blotchy skin to Butcher, who was now stood up by the doorway. "Why?" Rowan sniffled, breath slowing every second their eyes were locked.

"'Cause we're getting some fuckin' breakfast."

____________________

He felt rather horrid inside for smiling, but he was just sorry - watching her face press up against the steel on the side of the food truck, eyes flickering and arms hanging down either side of the seat. He decided she looked a little more like a young woman when she was tired, perhaps it was because she was unable to get as mucky, or perhaps it was because her footsteps were like those of pixies, her lips were rosy from being chewed and her skin was so much more of a pale grey that it made her eyelashes more prominent and dark.