John stepped forward, his hand shaking as it reached to touch you.

“No, no…you- you died…” He whispered, his hand leaning on your skin. But your skin was warm, you were there — at least in his head.

“A-are you better now…?” He asked quietly, both of his hands tenderly holding your rosy cheeks. He felt like a broken man but it felt like he was healing at the same time.

“You’re okay…right?” He whispered softly, resting his forehead on yours so softly. He never wanted to let go of you again.