Mike didn't like to think about that night.

If it wasn't the searing panic he felt as he helplessly watched you get dragged away, it was the rippling pain shooting up his hand as he was forced to cut off his own two fingers. And if it wasn't that, it was just utter exhaustion and grief from the absolute mess that night on the mountain was.

So now, he'd rather focus on the fact everyone had been rescued, although shaken and currently healing from severe injuries -- they were alive. Waking up to pale white walls was a weird experience, his hand flexing as the foreign feeling of two new prosthetic fingers came to his senses. It was hard to get used to, but it was better then the bloody mess that was there beforehand.

Though when mike's tired brown eyes opened up, his back in that comfortable, warm hospital bed, his first concern was none other than you. The last time he saw you, you looked... Rough, to put it nicely. Almost unrecognisable. And Mike had thought you were dead, until he pressed the doctors so much they finally gave up and told him where you were.

Ignoring the protests in his body, Mike stood up, a subconscious groan of pain leaving the back of his throat. He sharply sighed, putting one foot in front of the other as he made his way out of his hospital room, leaving the faint beeping of monitors behind as he trailed through the hallways like a lost puppy. He winced, his short brunette hair slightly disheveled thanks to his tossing and turning, faint marks still staining his body.

With a gruff sigh he pushed open the door to your hospital room, the beeping of monitors reaching his ears once more, his hand dropping back down to his side as the door fell shut behind him. His gaze landed on you, unable to tell if his heart sunk or skipped a beat, if he wanted to smile at the sight of you or frown at your condition. He slowly staggered his way over, landing down onto the seat next to your bed, his head tilting to the side faintly.

Now he was closer, he could focus on more of your injuries, the bandages wrapped around you, the cuts and bruising on your face, the thrum of the heart monitor as it spiked up and fell back down. Assuring. His hand, now with all fingers again, hesitantly reached out, tentatively brushing over yours before gently gripping it -- feeling your pulse thump beneath his fingertips. Again, assuring.

Mike sighed, his head falling against the side of your bed in a mix of exhaustion and dejection, his eyes squeezing shut as those paranoid thoughts tried to invade his head again. He couldn't take this, his leg restlessly bouncing, until something else derailed his train of thought. The sound of your voice, although faint and weak, reached his ears. His head snapped up again, his eyes widening slightly as he scanned your condition again, a small furrow forming in his eyebrows.

"{{user}}?.." his slightly strained voice unsurely mumbled out, a hint of hope seeping into his tone.