If it's alright to ask, i wanted to see how you think the boys help a reader/mc who has benign tremors.
It's exactly what it sounds like, my body/hands shake, and i can't control it. While I haven't been diagnosed, my ma has and I've inherited it from her. My hands/body shakes even if I'm not particularly afraid or anxious (and I am an anxious person)
It does make life a little hard. Sometimes I just cannot get my hands to be still enough to really do anything. Getting water? Someone else better hold the cup, typing is always difficult.
Though when I get sick or im anxious or tired, then I be shaking like some wet and cold chihuahua, seems very dramatic.
Hopefully this isn't too specific, I've not seen anyone write about it before..least j dont think so.
Either way, thanks for taking the time tk read this
Hello! Thank you for the request! I can't imagine what it's like to have benign tremors and the difficulty it must bring to what feel like they should be simple tasks, but I know the lads men would take great care of you.
This also hits a little close to home because my family has a history of Parkinson's and it makes me afraid of the future sometimes.
I hope you enjoy!
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Xavier:
You had noticed it getting worse.
At first, it was little things. A cup rattling in your hands. Struggling to fasten a button. Taking longer than usual to type out reports.
Then it started affecting your missions.
Some days, you could barely keep your firearm steady.
You hadn't told anyone, especially not Xavier. You didn't want to say it out loud because then it would become real. The thought had been eating away at you for weeks.
What kind of Hunter can't even hold their weapon steady?
The two of you were in the middle of a mission when it happened again. A Wanderer appeared from the shadows, and instinctively, you raised your gun.
Your hands shook.
Not enough to drop it, but enough. Enough that the sight wouldn't stay still and your finger froze on the trigger.
Xavier looked over, concerned. He didn't say anything at first. Then, quietly he asked, "It's not a good day?"
The words struck something deep inside you, and your shoulders immediately tensed, and you shook your head in denial.
"I'm fine."
"You don't seem fine."
"I said I'm okay." You shouted, louder than intended.
Xavier looked at you for a long moment before nodding once.
The Wanderer moved again. You raised your gun. Your hands trembled harder. You couldn't do it. You couldn't pull the trigger.
"No, no no nono." you muttered quietly to yourself panic flooding your chest.
The Wanderer lunged.
A burst of light flashed beside you. Then another. A few seconds later, the area fell silent.
Xavier had taken care of it.
You couldn't breathe. Your hands were shaking worse now, and the gun suddenly felt like it weighed 100lbs.
Then your hands gave out entirely. It slipped from your grasp and hit the ground.
The sound echoed loudly in the silence.
You stared at it, then at your hands. And suddenly, you couldn't stop the tears.
"What if this is it?" you whispered.
Xavier's looked at you gently, raising his eyebrow slightly, a silent ask for you to elaborate.
"What if I can't do this anymore?" Your voice cracked. "What if I can't be a Hunter?"
He stepped toward you slowly.
"You don't know that."
"But what if I can't even hold my weapon anymore?"
The tears came faster, the shaking spreading throughout your whole body.
"I've worked for this my whole life. I've never known another dream."
Xavier was quiet for a moment, as though he was trying to chose the write words. Instead, he gently took your trembling hands in his.
"They're shaking."
You let out a bark of a laugh.
"Really? I hadn't noticed."
A small smile tugged at his lips before it faded again.
"But they're still your hands."
You looked up at him.
"You know there are Hunters who don't use firearms." He started gently. "There are different weapons. Different specialties. Different positions within the agency."
"But..." You interrupted, but he raised his hand to quiet your protests.
"You aren't at the end of your story. You don't have to decide your future today."
His thoughtfulness surprised you and more tears streaked down your cheeks. "What if everything changes?"
Xavier's thumbs brushed your cheeks softly, wiping away the tears, a reassuring smile on his face."Then we'll figure out what comes next."
You looked at him."We?"
"Of course."His answer came so easily that it made your chest ache.
"So what if your hands shake?" he said softly. "You're still strong. You're still capable."
Another tear fell.
"And you're still the person I love." He whispered, pulling you close. "A little shaking doesn't change any of that."
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Zayne:
You had tried to ignore it. Every time your hands shook a little more than usual, every time you struggled to button your shirt or spilled your coffee, you told yourself it was just because you were tired. But then it started happening on missions, and then it started getting worse.
You knew benign tremors ran in your family. You also knew that benign didn't always make something easy to live with.
When Zayne noticed your hands trembling while you were trying to sign a report, he didn't say anything. Not then. Instead, a week later, he quietly asked, "Will you come to the hospital with me tomorrow?"
You looked at him. "Why?"
"I'd like to run a few tests."
You sighed. "I knew this was coming."
He reached over, gently taking your hand before it could disappear into your lap. "I don't want to frighten you."
"You already have."
His thumb brushed absently over your knuckles. "I want answers."
You did, too, so you went.
Bloodwork. Neurological exams. Questions that seemed endless. By the time the last appointment was over, you were exhausted.
Zayne sat beside you in his office, reviewing the results one final time before setting the file down. He looked up. "It's nothing. It's benign."
You let out a breath you hadn't realized you'd been holding. "So..."
"So," he repeated softly, "everything points to benign tremors."
You searched his face. "You're sure?"
"I'm as sure as I can be."
There was a quiet moment, while you registered the news.
"But they're getting worse."
"They may."
Your heart sank, and he immediately reached for your hand. "They may also stabilize. Symptoms can fluctuate, especially with stress, fatigue, illness, or caffeine."
You looked down at your intertwined hands. "So... I just have to live with it?"
"For now."
The words stung more than you expected. "I hate it."
"I know."
"I can't even hold a cup some days."
His grip tightened slightly, careful not to hurt you. "I know."
Tears clouded your eyesight. "What if it keeps getting worse?"
Zayne was quiet for a moment. "I can't promise you it won't change."
The honesty hurt, but somehow, it was comforting too.
"What I can promise," he continued, "is that if it does, we'll adapt. We'll find ways to make everyday tasks easier. We'll adjust your treatment if new options become available. If you ever need another opinion, I'll find the best specialist."
His expression softened. "And if one day this becomes more than benign..." He gently lifted your hand, pressing a kiss against your trembling fingers. "I'll be beside you every step of the way."
The tears finally spilled over. "I don't want to become a burden."
Zayne frowned at the thought. "You won't."
He held your gaze with the same quiet certainty he always carried. "Your hands may shake." His thumb brushed gently across your knuckles. "But they still hold mine."
A small, laugh escaped you as you squeezed his hand tighter. "And I have no intention of letting go."
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Rafayel:
You had been watching Rafayel paint for nearly an hour. His brush danced effortlessly across the canvas, each stroke deliberate and confident, as though he'd already seen the finished piece long before the paint ever touched it.
It was beautiful.
He was beautiful.
Everything he created had this elegance you couldn't describe.
Without thinking, you looked down at your own hands. They were trembling again, so you curled them into your lap. "You know," you said quietly, "if your hands shook like mine do...you wouldn't be able to do this."
Rafayel hummed distractedly, still painting, until your words fully registered in his head. His brush went still, and the room fell silent. Slowly, he set it aside and turned to look at you. "Is that what's been bothering you?" he asked.
You laughed quietly. "I mean...look at you." You gestured toward the canvas. "Your hands are your livelihood. If they shook like mine..." Your voice faltered. "You'd lose everything."
Rafayel simply stared at you with a look you didn't know how to describe. Then he smiled so gentle. "Cutie." He stood and crossed the room until he was kneeling in front of you. "You've misunderstood me."
You frowned. "If my hands started shaking tomorrow..." He looked down at them, turning them over thoughtfully. "...I'd probably have to paint differently. I might paint bigger canvases, or switch to sculpting. Maybe I'd use charcoal. Maybe I'd learn something completely new." He shrugged. "I'd still create. My hands don't make me an artist. I do."
The words settled over you and his gaze found yours. "So why," he asked softly, "have you decided that your hands get to decide who you are?"
His question caught you off guard as you pondered your response. "I..." you started, but he shook his head gently.
"You are so much more than the way your body moves." His hands found yours, his thumbs brushing lightly over your trembling fingers. "You think I look at these hands and see something broken? I see the hands that reach for mine. The hands that make tea when I'm working too late." He gave your fingers a gentle squeeze. "The hands that hold my face."
Tears welled in your eyes. "I don't even notice that they're shaking." He admitted.
"You don't?"
"No." He leaned forward, pressing a kiss against your knuckles. "I only notice that they're yours."
The tears came then, and he smiled as he wiped one away with his thumb. "And if one day they shake a little more..." His forehead rested lightly against yours. "...I'll still think they're the most beautiful hands I've ever held."
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Sylus:
It wasn't the first thing that had gone wrong that day.
Your hands had been shaking since you woke up. You'd struggled to button your shirt, nearly dropped your toothbrush, and by the time you got home that evening, your nerves were frayed from pretending none of it bothered you.
Still, you told yourself you were fine.
Until the bottle.
You stood in the kitchen, twisting at the cap with both hands. Nothing. You adjusted your grip and tried again. Nothing. A third time. Then a fourth.
Your hands trembled harder with every failed attempt, and frustration built in your chest. With a sharp breath, you slammed the bottle onto the counter.
"Fuck."
The word came out harsher than you intended, and before you knew it, tears were spilling down your cheeks.
It wasn't about the bottle. It was never about the bottle. It was every cup you'd spilled, every button you'd struggled with, every mission where your hands shook just a little too much, and every quiet fear that one day, your body would stop cooperating altogether.
The front door clicked open.
Sylus stepped inside and immediately stopped when he saw you standing in the kitchen. His eyes flicked to your face, then to the unopened bottle. Without a word, he walked over, picked it up, twisted the cap free with one hand, and set it back on the counter before sitting beside you.
You stared at the bottle and he stared at you, taking in the flush on your face, the tears in your eyes.
Finally, he spoke. "That wasn't just about the bottle."
The tears came harder. You laughed through them, shaking your head. "No."
You buried your face in your hands. "I'm so tired."
His hand came to rest on your knee. "I know."
"What if it keeps getting worse?" you whispered. "What if one day I can't do anything by myself anymore?"
He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he reached over and gently took one of your trembling hands in his.
"If tomorrow your hands shook twice as much..." His thumb brushed slowly across your knuckles. "...I'd open twice as many bottles."
You looked up at him. His expression was calm, unwavering.
"If they shook so much you couldn't tie your shoes..." A faint smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. "I'd tie them."
"If holding a cup became difficult...I'd hold it."
Your lip trembled. "I don't want to need help."
His gaze softened. "You won't need help."
You frowned, a puzzled look flashed across your eyes.
"You'll have me. You've convinced yourself that accepting help means you've lost something." He intertwined his fingers with yours. "I don't see it that way."
You stared at your joined hands.
"I see someone I love."
His grip tightened. "Your hands don't carry this relationship."
Your eyes met his crimson ones.
"We do." Sylus leaned over and pressed a kiss to your forehead. "When that day comes, if it ever comes, we'll face it together."
Then, with the smallest smile, he nudged the now-open bottle toward you. "Drink your water, sweetie."
Despite the tears still clinging to your lashes, despite your still trembling hands, you laughed, feeling a peace you didn't know you were capable of.
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Caleb:
Caleb couldn't remember a time your hands didn't shake.
When you were little, he'd hold your juice box while you pushed the straw through the foil. Your hands never seemed to stay still long enough to do it yourself.
As you got older, he learned the signs.
If you were sick, they got worse. If you were tired, he'd carry your tray in the cafeteria before you even asked. If you were anxious, he'd quietly take your drink without making a fuss, then hand it back once you'd both sat down.
He had never thought it was a burden, because it was just you.
So when you showed up at his apartment one evening and were unusually quiet, he knew something was wrong.
"Pips?" he asked gently.
You smiled, but it didn't quite reach your eyes.
"I'm okay."
He didn't believe you for a second.
You disappeared into the kitchen while he finished putting away groceries. A moment later, he heard something clatter against the counter.
By the time he rounded the corner, you were staring at a mug lying on its side, tea pooling across the countertop.
Your hands trembled violently.
"I've got it," you whispered, reaching for a towel.
Caleb caught your wrist before you could.
"I've got it."
He grabbed the towel and wiped up the spill.
"I'm sorry," you said immediately, voice higher than normal.
"For what?"
"I keep making you do everything."
He looked up, genuinely confused.
"What are you talking about?"
"Cleaning up just now, carrying drinks, opening things...The list goes on forever" Your voice cracked. "You've been helping me my whole life."
"Yeah."
"You shouldn't have to."
He frowned.
"Says who?"
"I hate that you always have to take care of me."
Caleb set the towel down and walked over to you. Carefully, he took both of your trembling hands in his.
"Pipsqueak." His voice was so soft and gentle it made your chest ache.
"I've seen you at your best." His thumbs brushed over your knuckles. "I've seen you at your worst."
You looked down.
"I've seen you shake so hard you couldn't hold a spoon when you had the flu."
The smallest smile graced your lips at the memory.
"And I've seen you take down Wanderers that would've sent other Hunters running."
You slowly lifted your head to meet his gaze.
"So don't stand here and tell me your hands are all I should see."
You shook your head, thinking about the future, what was yet to come. "What if they get worse?" You wondered aloud.
He smiled softly.
"Then I'll open more jars."
You laughed.
"I'll carry more drinks."
Another laugh.
"I'll button your jacket when your fingers don't want to cooperate."
His smile grew warmer.
"I'll do whatever you need me to do."
You searched his face.
"Doesn't that scare you? Having me be completely dependent on you."
"Not even a little." He answered quickly, without hesitation.
"Because no matter what your hands decide to do," He leaned forward, resting his forehead against yours. "I'll still get to love my Pips."
He wrapped his arms around you without another word.
"You've spent your whole life worrying that your tremors would make people leave," he murmured.
He held you a little tighter.
"They've never made me take a single step back."
