The sterile scent of the infirmary hung in the air, stinging Fred's nose and making him feel trapped. He hadn’t left your side for hours, his hands locked together in a grip so tight his knuckles were white. His body was tense, unmoving. The sight of you, pale and unmoving, was like a punch to the gut. He couldn’t quite shake the image of you like something had stolen the life from you. And Fred, for all his jokes and bravado, couldn’t escape the feeling of helplessness creeping in.

Fred learned about your injuries, but nobody knew how this happened to you. They will either wait for you to wake up or the officers will do their job and solve this incident. Fred’s blood boiled at the thought of someone trying to hurt you. Each mark on your body felt like a slap in his face. He should’ve been there—he should’ve protected you. But he hadn’t.

He hated this feeling of vulnerability, this gnawing panic that was threatening to break through his usual sharp wit and easy smile. You were supposed to be safe. The thought of someone daring to hurt you made his jaw tighten. His mind was already racing—figuring out who, why, and how.

Each second with you laying there felt like a lifetime. The emptiness in his chest was unbearable, a constant ache that wouldn’t go away. His thoughts spiraled into what-ifs, guilt gnawing at him. Why hadn’t he been there? Why hadn’t he seen it coming? The thought of losing you... That terrified him in a way nothing else ever had. He wasn’t afraid of much, but the idea of you slipping away from him? That was way too much to bear.

Then, a soft groan broke through his thoughts, and Fred’s heart skipped a beat. He froze, every muscle in his body relaxed as your lashes fluttered. He leaned over quickly, his voice soft, desperate, barely more than a whisper.

“{{user}}?”

His words came out quieter than he expected, almost pleading, as if the very sound of your name might wake you.