Safe With You

When The World Tilts

•Greyson~

It starts like any other morning in our little corner of chaos.

The girls are halfway through their cereal — Quinn humming some pop song between spoonfuls, Poppy chatting about a school art project, both of them still in pyjamas — while I fry eggs and try to remember whether Alyssa wanted tea or coffee today.

She’s quiet.

That’s the first thing I notice.

She’s perched on the counter in one of my shirts — her hair a tangle of black and crimson waves, bare legs swinging — but there’s something off. Her smile doesn’t reach her eyes, and she’s gone pale beneath her usual glow.

“You alright, love?” I ask, turning down the hob.

She nods too quickly. “Yeah, just tired. Didn’t sleep great.”

But a moment later, she presses a hand to her stomach, brow creasing.

“Greyson,” she murmurs, voice barely there.

Then she bolts.

I drop the pan — eggs splattering across the cooker — and I’m already moving, heart hammering.

She’s in the bathroom, doubled over the sink, heaving violently. Her hair sticks to her damp forehead; her whole body trembles.

“Hey, hey, it’s alright—” I kneel beside her, hand against her back. She’s burning up, sweat slicking her skin. “Breathe for me, sweetheart.”

She tries to speak but only manages a whimper before she’s sick again.

Poppy’s small voice filters from the hall, worried. “Daddy, is Alyssa okay?”

“She’s fine, poppet. Go keep Quinn company, yeah?” I say, somehow keeping my tone calm when everything inside me feels like it’s splintering.

When it’s over, she slumps to the floor, shaking. I grab a towel, wipe her face, fill a glass of water, and hold it to her lips. “Sip slowly.”

Her eyes are glazed, but she listens. I can see how pale she’s gone — lips colourless, pupils unfocused. It scares the hell out of me.

“I think I’m dying,” she whispers weakly.

“Don’t even joke like that.” I tuck her hair behind her ear. “You’re not dying, but we’re going to the hospital. No arguments.”

She tries to protest, but I’ve already made up my mind.

Ten minutes later, Winston’s standing in my doorway, hair a mess, still half asleep. “You called?”

“I need you to stay with the girls,” I say, already pulling on my coat. “Alyssa’s sick. I’m taking her to Markus.”

He sobers instantly. “Got it. Go.”

I scoop Alyssa up without another word — she’s light in my arms, far too light — and carry her to the car. She rests her head against my chest, eyes half-closed.

“Greyson,” she murmurs, voice fragile. “You don’t have to—”

“Stop. You know damn well I do.”

~Markus~

I’ve seen my brother panic before, but never like this.

He bursts through the clinic doors, Alyssa limp in his arms, face pale as chalk. “I need help — now!”

Within seconds, my nurses are moving. I guide him to a room myself.

“Set her down gently,” I tell him, already snapping on gloves. Alyssa’s breathing is shallow but steady. “What happened?”

“She was fine one minute,” Greyson says, voice tight, “and then she was sick, burning up, shaking— I didn’t know what else to do.”

“You did the right thing.” I check her vitals — fever, pulse quick but strong, oxygen fine. Nothing catastrophic, but her exhaustion is written all over her.

“She’s dehydrated,” I murmur, setting up a drip. “Probably hasn’t eaten properly in days. When’s the last time she actually stopped working?”

Greyson scoffs. “Stopped working? I don’t think she knows what that means.”

Despite the fear, I almost smile. Sounds about right for Alyssa Rose.

“Let’s get her bloods done,” I say to the nurse. “Full work-up — electrolytes, iron, thyroid, everything.”

Greyson hovers beside her bed, gripping her hand like he’s afraid she’ll disappear if he lets go.

“Go sit down before you fall down,” I tell him, but he doesn’t move.

“Not until she wakes up.”

An hour later, I’ve got her results in hand.

Everything checks out — no infection, no virus, nothing sinister. Just one little number, sitting lower than it should.

Iron. Slightly below normal.

I head back into the room where Greyson’s pacing again. Alyssa’s awake now, sitting up, colour slowly returning.

“How are we feeling?” I ask.

“Like I’ve been hit by a bus,” she mutters, rubbing her temples.

“That’ll pass. You’re run-down, Alyssa. Your iron’s a little low — nothing dangerous, but enough to knock you sideways.”

Greyson exhales, finally sinking into the chair beside her. “So it’s not—”

“It’s not anything serious,” I reassure him. “But she needs to rest. Properly rest. Eat well, take supplements, and stay hydrated. No twelve-hour days at AQ for at least a week.”

Alyssa groans. “You sound like my brother.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” I say dryly, scribbling on a chart. “I’m refilling your prescription too, so don’t forget to take it this time.”

She narrows her eyes. “How do you even know I didn’t?”

I grin. “Because you’re you. Now get out of my office before I start charging you rent.”

Greyson helps her off the bed, steadying her when she wobbles. She rolls her eyes, but she doesn’t pull away.

“Thanks, Markus,” she says softly.

“Anytime. And Greyson— try not to suffocate her with worry.”

“No promises,” my brother mutters.

~Greyson~

By the time we get back to her house, it’s late afternoon. Quinn and Poppy are painting in the kitchen with Winston, both of them lighting up the second they see us.

“Mummy!” Quinn runs to Alyssa, stopping just short when she sees how tired she looks. “Are you better now?”

“I will be, sweetheart,” she says, crouching down to kiss her daughter’s forehead. “I just need a few lazy days.”

“Good,” Poppy says firmly. “Daddy says naps fix everything.”

Alyssa laughs softly. “I like your thinking.”

After the girls head back to their paints, I lead Alyssa to the sofa. She looks utterly done in.

“I can walk, you know,” she protests weakly.

“Yeah, and I can ignore you, so we’re even.”

That earns me a faint smile.

She curls up beneath a blanket, head resting against my chest. I can feel the heat still radiating off her skin.

“Greyson,” she whispers after a long moment. “I hate feeling weak.”

“You’re not weak,” I say, running my fingers through her hair. “You’re human. And humans need to rest sometimes.”

She tilts her head up to look at me, eyes glassy. “You really believe that?”

“I do,” I murmur. “And for the record, I’m not going anywhere. You don’t have to fight everything alone anymore.”

Something softens in her then — something raw and fragile.

She presses her forehead to my shoulder, and for the first time in days, she lets herself just… breathe.

~Alyssa~

It’s strange, how safety can feel so foreign.

For so long, it’s just been me and Quinn against the world — no backup, no safety net.

Now there’s this man who steps in without asking, who doesn’t need permission to care.

I wake a few hours later to find the room dim, his arm draped over my waist. The steady beat of his heart under my cheek is oddly soothing. I trace the veins on his hand, the rough calluses that come from years of designing and building.

He stirs. “You should be asleep.”

“So should you,” I whisper.

He opens one eye, half smiling. “You’re bossy when you’re sick.”

“Always,” I reply, smiling faintly. “Thank you, for everything today.”

He brushes a strand of hair off my face. “You’d do the same for me.”

I want to tell him he’s wrong — that I don’t know how to let someone in like this — but the words don’t come. Instead, I rest my head against his chest again and listen to the quiet hum of the house.

The girls’ laughter drifts faintly from upstairs.

For a fleeting moment, it feels like a glimpse of something bigger — something whole.

~Markus (Later That Night)~

When the last patient leaves, I sit in my office going through Alyssa’s chart again.

Her numbers all sit neatly where they should — except the iron.

And yet, I can’t shake that something else is at play.

It’s not just exhaustion. There’s a certain glow about her — a warmth that doesn’t fit anaemia.

Still, there’s no medical reason to dig deeper yet.

So I let it be.

I send Greyson a message:

“Her results look fine — low iron only. Get her resting, and I’ll recheck in a few weeks.”

His reply comes almost instantly:

“Thanks, brother. She’s home, sleeping. I’ll look after her.”

Somehow, I know he means more than just making sure she eats and sleeps.

He’s in deep — and from what I’ve seen, so is she.

~Greyson~

The girls are asleep now, curled together in a tangle of blankets and stuffed animals upstairs. The house is silent except for the low crackle of the fire.

Alyssa’s still drowsy, tucked under my arm on the sofa, half-listening as I talk about the new project Winston and I are working on.

She laughs at something I say, soft and sleepy, then murmurs, “You worry too much, you know.”

“Someone’s got to.”

She turns, looking up at me with that gentle fire in her eyes — the one that always disarms me completely.

“Thank you,” she whispers. “For staying. For caring.”

“Always,” I say simply.

And I mean it.

I press a kiss to her forehead — nothing more, nothing less — and for the first time in a week, I feel her relax completely against me.

Whatever’s coming next, we’ll face it together.

Even if neither of us realises yet that the world is about to change again.