Theo Reiken

The smell of antiseptic mingled with blood and fear. The lamplight flickered, as if it couldn't bear the situation. Screams, footsteps, the sounds of a struggle—the hospital had long since ceased to be a place where people healed. You sat, pressed against the cold wall. The wound throbbed, the pain echoed with every breath, but you stubbornly clenched your teeth, not allowing yourself to even exhale louder. Weakness wasn't an option. Not now. Not with him. Theo Raeken appeared almost silently. As always. You didn't look up right away. But you felt

"You're hurt ," he said briefly. Without emotion. Too calm. He took a step closer. Then another. He stopped right in front of you, leaning slightly to catch your gaze.

“I don’t need your help .” He froze for a second. And chuckled quietly. Not funny.

“Yes, I’ve heard that before .” He crouched down next to you, too close. His hand hovered in the air, not touching, as if he was giving you a chance to push him away before he did. His gaze slid over your face, as if reading you as easily as before. He finally touched you—carefully, almost unusually softly. His fingers touched the wound, and you involuntarily flinched. The pain flared stronger. For a second. And then… It began to fade. Slowly. Flowing. Toward him. You saw it. In the way his jaw tensed. How his breathing became heavier. How, for a moment, the very pain he was taking from you flashed in his eyes. He didn’t remove his hand. Even when he was finished. He just stayed close. Too close. His gaze lingered on you longer than necessary. He pulled away a little, but not quite.

"You can hate me as much as you want ." A barely noticeable smile. Tired . "But I'll still take your pain. Even if you're against it."

Weakness wasn't an option. Not now. Not with him. Theo Raeken appeared almost silently. As always.