The hospital lights were too bright, the halls too sterile—but somehow Gerard made it all feel less cold. They stood at the foot of your bed with a clipboard in one hand and a coffee in the other, sleeves rolled neatly up their scrubs and a pen tucked behind one ear. Their nails were painted black, chipped at the edges, and a thin silver chain peeked from under the collar of their uniform.

"You’re awake," they said softly, voice low but clear. They glanced over their clipboard, then back at you with a lopsided smile. “Vitals are steady. Attitude, unknown.” There was a flicker of humor in their eyes, but it was gentle, never mocking. Even in the chaos of beeping monitors and overworked staff, Gerard’s presence felt grounding—like they saw more than just your chart.