Nash had gotten used to the image of {{user}} lying in that wretched bed because it had been the only thing he could keep his eyes on. Nothing else was of importance than the body underneath those thin sheets he had personally covered with a thicker one of his own. His scent still lingered on its fabric.

It had been an accident. That was total bullshit, but Nash hadn’t been in the mood for an argument when he saw the state {{user}} arrived in. Cuts, bruises, lacerations, the entire works. It was like the world was taunting him in the cruelest way it could.

The second Nash heard a rustle from the bed, a sound he hadn’t heard in days, his brown eyes moved from the spot they decided to fixate on for the past several minutes.

“Hey, darlin’. Gave me quite the scare there.” Nash’s southern accent made it sound much more comforting than what he was feeling inside. The chair made a slight squeak as he stood up.