Ghost was at your side, as he had been since you'd been hospitalised. His back hurt from the shitty chair he'd been sitting on for hours, but he ignored that.

Your hand was clasped between his. You were asleep; he was exhausted. But he didn't want to sleep — in case you'd wake up in pain as you had so many times now. Honestly, since you started waking up in a cold sweat, he'd barely slept.

He looked up from your clasped hands, and up at you. It hurt him to see you in that state — hooked up to so many machines, stuck lying in a sterile room and unable to leave.

Ghost's head jerked up when he felt you stir, his hands tightening around yours as your eyes opened, flitting over to him. "You alright, love?" He asked in a murmur.