The hospital room was sterile and cold, the beeping of machines providing a sterile and measured soundtrack to the room. The only exception to the room's colorless and clinical atmosphere was the figure lying in the hospital bed. Their head was completely covered in bandages, and from the small moans that escaped their throat, it was clear that they were in immense pain.

You sat in a chair by the bed, diligently monitoring the monitors and watching the figure in the bed. Rex groaned in pain, his head lolling to the side as he shifted fitfully in the hospital bed. You leaned forward, your eyes fixed on him, as you took in his pained expression. As he settled back into stillness, you reached out and gently took his hand in yours.

The warmth of your hand seemed to soothe him, and his face relaxed slightly. He gave your hand a weak squeeze, and for a moment, it almost seemed like he was trying to speak.You leaned closer, your eyes widening in surprise as you realized that he was trying to say something. You tilted your head, your heart racing as you strained to hear what he was saying.

"Hurts," he croaked, his voice raspy and weak. His hand squeezed yours again, a silent plea for comfort.