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It was a while before you woke up, and although sleep cancels out everything, you knew you'd been knocked out for longer than usual. You don't remember what happened or why, all you know is that you felt icky, sick and hot.
On the attempt to lift your head from the pillow, not yet opening your eyes, a sharp pain flicked down your spine, ejecting a long emitted groan from your lips. Tessa barked beside you, having woken her up, making you jump. Your eyes shot open, peeling the hardened sleep away from your lashes. Your ears were flooded with the sound of your own breathing, the harsh ex and inhales blocking out the noise of Tessa's yapping, the uproar simmering to a blurred out whistle. However, a familiar face brought you back down to planet earth as you saw Tom leaning over you gently, his hand resting on your forehead and sending your neck to rest, your head landing back on the pillow.
"God, Y/N-" he sighed, almost in disbelief as he doubted himself. You both knew the reason why this happened wasn't even close to being his fault, and yet the guilt was still hefty on his chest. You felt a damp chill run down the side of your cheek, your depleted eyes slowly progressed towards your forehead, where what looked like a wet white rag was lapped over your forehead. You let out a whimper as you could feel the advancing headache that was brewing in the back of your head. But the sweet sound that left your lips made Tom's hairs stand on end.
"Ssh, baby, don't over stress yourself" he lulled you gently, wrapping the sheets tightly around you. This was a nice sight, even if you were slightly taking the opportunity to see this side of Tom. Instead of the lustful desire that more than often you would catch in his eye, you saw a gentle heart written compassion hidden behind his pupils, his soft hands tying your skin in warmth and comfort. The space between you was rash, but you felt you needed to be closer to him. Even with the warm touches, you were still shaking out of discomfort, the slightest trail near your legs brought back previous events and it was stupid. Trauma was one of the many things that had unwillingly developed and ruined a lot of your life, as you found it increasingly hard to forget things you would wish never happened, and yet they remained fresh as the morning chill on the top of your brain.
"Tom-" you squinted your eyes shut tightly, placing your hands behind you and sitting up. Tom helped you slowly, placing a hand on your rib to support your back against the headboard. Upon sitting up, Tom moved over towards you, supporting you so that you were able to lean on him. You slipped the rag off of your forehead and placed it down in front of you, revealing the other half of the mark that was sure to scar in a couple months. With Tom's best intentions, he had placed some butterfly stitches over the open wound, but that didn't stop it from bleeding. You could still taste the raw iron ichor on your tongue as you flicked it slowly around your mouth, dampening the dry spots away from the cut on your lip, and there were sure enough to be bruises on your legs and back.
"How's your head?" Tom whispered gently, brushing a small strand of hair away from your face and tucking it neatly behind your ear. You shrugged faintly, your head lolling forward from the sore neck muscle which had desecrated over the night. You were only half awake, and nothing seemed to process through you right now. Tom had his hand placed firmly on your hip, running his fingers over your creased shirt, hoping you could feel it on your skin.
