Pieces of last night were engraved into your head. You groaned, tossing and turning within the hospital bed, the scent of disinfectant assaulting your senses.

“You miss me?” Keegan asked cockily, inching closer with his chair, the legs screeching against the tiling.

You glared at him, which only provided him with reason to flick your forehead. You sluggishly turn your head away to try and protect your delicate forehead from Keegan.

“That’s not how you treat your saviour,” Keegan mused.