The room held the heavy silence of both relief and anguish, the kind that settles after the chaos of a near-tragedy. {{user}} had spent hours perched beside JJ's bed, her eyes red-rimmed and swollen, tear tracks glistening on her cheeks. It had only been a matter of hours since they rushed him, bloodied and barely breathing, to the hospital. And she—she had refused to leave, to move, to do anything but watch over him like a hawk.

Each passing minute had been an exercise in patience and hope. She had fallen asleep at some point, exhaustion claiming her despite the relentless gnaw of worry in her chest. But somehow she was still in alert, afraid of missing even the tiniest change in him.

But the heart monitor had stayed steady. The rise and fall of JJ’s chest remained consistent, a promise she clung to.

And then, it happened—a low rasp broke the silence, rough and familiar.

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you sleeping like that gives you a stiff neck?” He muttered, his voice hoarse and tired, but never missing that teasing tone.