"𝐖𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐭 𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐚𝐠𝐞."
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Alyssa, Alessandro and Alessio Smith have gone through hell.
They've been fighting to survive from the moment they'd first opened their eyes. Six...
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A KNOCK ON THE door is what bursts our bubble. It echoes dauntingly around the room we're in, ringing a bell with its uncomfortable familiarity, before the door handle turns. The person on the other side gives San just barely enough time to throw a beige duvet over my naked form, not bothering to wait for a confirmation from any of us before they're storming inside.
I quickly heave myself back into an upward position, using Ale's knees in front of me as support. My wounds scream in protest at the sudden movement, making me bite my lip to suppress a whimper. I hope none of them have burst open further. It sure feels like it.
Angling my head toward the newcomer, I'm surprised when I find Dante staring back at me, his eyes swarmed with that same indecipherable expression that I'm still struggling to get accustomed to. They roam over our little bundle with scrutiny, from the beige duvet that is hanging haphazardly from my shoulders, to Ale's hands still on my hips.
It's dead silent in the room. Not even our breathing can be heard; as if someone had turned off all noise. My heart beats heavily at the uncanny atmosphere Dante's presence has brought along.
What is he doing here?
His eyebrows twitch when he spots the first aid kit. "The fuck are you doing with that?" My stomach twists at that familiar edge lacing his voice. Although, it's a bit... rougher now - the edge.
San grabs around me to gently lay his hand upon my waist in a protective manner, his pinky meeting our brother's pointer finger. "I was looking if we had some pills of our own left over."
Half truth.
Not denying the existence or possession of our first aid kit, nor mentioning the bloody, crumpled up cotton pads that he's most probably hiding in his other hand.
Dante's brows crease for a moment as he reassesses the situation presented to him with the new information he's gained. His eyes flit over our huddle once again, stocking at the blanket I'm cuddled up in. Fortunately he doesn't comment on it though and his expression finally morphs back to a calm blankness - the same one that's been replacing his usual glower ever since that incident in the hallway. He nods curtly. A gesture made to himself, rather than to any of us. Before his gaze darts downward.
My eyes follow his line of sight confusedly, until they land on the little corner of something white that's peeking out from his tightly wrapped fist.
He clenches his jaw further as he takes a small step forward, reluctantly placing the object down on the bed.
"For your stomach," he mutters under his breath, so quietly and so softly - a complete contrast to the roughened edge from moments ago - that I almost don't catch it, before he turns on his heels and hurries out of the room even quicker than he'd hurried inside.
