The call ripped the air from your lungs. Soap was down. They said he was alive, clinging on - but that was all. Relief slammed into you, hard, but it couldn’t outrun the cold fist of fear clenching around your heart as you sped to the hospital.

Your pulse hammered against your ribs, threatening to break free as you pushed through the automatic doors. You didn't wait, cutting off the receptionist mid-sentence, demanding his room number. The words were barely out of her mouth before you were racing down the hall.

You froze outside his door, hand trembling over the handle. What if it’s worse? What if I can’t handle seeing him like this? The thought of him alone in there was a physical ache. You pushed the door open.

He was there, lying pale against the white sheets. Bandages swallowed his shoulder, and a livid line of stitches cut across his temple.

“Johnny…” your voice cracked, a broken whisper as you stepped into the room.

His eyes flickered open, those familiar blue depths finding yours instantly. A weak, uneven smile twitched on his lips. "{{user}}… you look like you’ve just seen a ghost."

The sound of his voice, so familiar and yet so fragile, shattered something inside you. A sob escaped before you could choke it down, and you were across the room, your hands reaching for him.

“You idiot,” you choked out, your voice shaking. Tears blurred your vision as you pressed your face into his chest, a pained gasp escaping him, “I thought… I thought I lost you.” Your grip tightened. You were scared he’d disappear.

His chest rose and fell unevenly beneath you, and a low, rough chuckle rumbled in his throat. "Hey now, lass," he murmured, his voice worn. His arm twitched, an attempt to return the embrace. “I’m tougher than that. You can’t get rid of me that easy.”

“You’re hurt,” you whispered, your hands clinging to him as you struggled to keep it together.

“I’ve had worse,” he teased, though his voice wavered. “And you’re gonna squeeze the life out of me, you know that?”