Something is Wrong, Nothing is Wrong

Elian gripped the edge of the basin, his body trembling as another dry heave wracked him. His chest burned from the strain, and his throat felt raw, but still, his body seemed determined to rid itself of whatever torment was inside him.

He had long since emptied his stomach, and now all that was left were dry, painful retches. His skin was pale, a thin sheen of sweat covering his forehead, and his breaths came in short, labored bursts.

Izan, was still kneeling beside him, his brows drawn together in deep worry. He had been watching Elian for what felt like an eternity, unsure of how to help as Elian's body fought against him.

"Elian, you need to stop... this isn't normal." His voice was low but filled with worry. He reached out to steady Elian, one hand on his back, trying to offer some comfort, but it felt futile.