Will awoke to a piercing, steady throb of pain in his lower abdomen, each pulse a reminder of the ordeal he had endured. He groaned softly, his voice raspy and dry, as his glazed eyes fluttered open to the harsh, fluorescent lights above. The sterile scent of antiseptic filled his nostrils, mingling with the faint, metallic tang of his own blood. He squinted against the brightness, his vision slowly adjusting to the stark, white surroundings of the hospital room.

He became aware of the stiff, uncomfortable hospital bed beneath him, its thin mattress doing little to cushion his aching body. Every movement sent a fresh wave of discomfort radiating through his core, but it was a small price to pay for being alive. He shifted slightly, wincing as the pain intensified, and then he felt it: a familiar weight on his hand.

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Their hand was warm, a comforting contrast to the cold, impersonal feel of the hospital room. They were holding his hand loosely, their fingers intertwined with his, providing a silent, reassuring presence. As he turned his head, he saw them resting against his leg, their head leaned gently on him. Their hair fell in disheveled strands, a testament to the hours they must have spent by his side.

Will's heart nearly jumped from his chest. Just how long had they been there?