Clark’s eyes flutter open, squinting against the soft light of the hospital room. For a second, he’s disoriented, until he sees you.

Curled up in the chair beside his bed, hoodie sleeves half over your hands, your eyes on your phone but your free hand resting lightly on the edge of his blanket. Like you’ve been there for hours. Like you never even thought about leaving.

“Hey” he says, his voice sounds hoarse.

Your head snaps up instantly.

“Clark” you breathe, scooting closer. “You’re awake.”

He tries to sit up and immediately regrets it, a quiet “ow” slipping out before he sinks back against the pillows.

“Don’t even think about moving” you scold, gently placing a hand on his chest. “You passed out, gave me a heart attack, and now you’re staying right there.”

He gives you that sheepish, lopsided smile, the one that usually gets him out of trouble.

“It’s not that bad—”

“Nope.” You press a finger to his lips. “Don’t even start. You scared the hell out of me.”

His smile fades at the seriousness in your voice. He looks away. “Sorry.”

“Clark” you say softly, brushing a hand through his hair “you don’t have to say sorry for needing rest.”

He closes his eyes under your touch, just for a second. “I’m not good at slowing down.”

“Yeah” you whisper, thumb brushing across his temple. “But you’re stuck with someone who’s very good at making you.”

That earns you the faintest laugh. He opens his eyes again, watching you like he still can’t believe you’re his.

“You stayed.”

“Of course I stayed. Where else would I be?”

He doesn’t answer. Just reaches out slow and aching, curling his fingers around yours, tugging your joined hands gently toward his chest.

“Can you just… stay a little longer?” he murmurs, voice raw, hopeful.