Getting Attention

[Raffe]

Nox lunged. Raffe jerked back even though he knew it was the injured arm; instinct prevailing before thought. It smacked his chest but he didn’t let go, not until Nox fell hard to his knees. Raffe’s pulse burned, his expression torn wide in terror, and only then realised the presence of the other man -- the one from the hospital. Writhing, hands at his throat. Suffocating. It stirred something bright in his chest. Not to protect Nox from the Atharim, but to protect Nox from himself. He fell alongside, not sure how to pierce through that darkness. “Pleasepleaseplease.” The words were ragged, choked in his scarred throat. Nox rammed the wound into the ground and finally curled into himself, shaking. Raffe’s arms held close, his face pressed to the top of Nox’s head. Relief flooded, until he thought to look up to the man. And saw the muzzle of a gun. 

Then that feeling in his chest unspooled into rage. Not Raffe’s own, but like the world suddenly drained of colour. His grip tightened, confused by the drown of sensation. Then the gun swiped free, knocked sideways into the grass.