He hated hospitals. Absolutely despised them.

After his mom’s death he couldn’t get himself to walk normally into one. The corridors were making him uneasy, the constant beeping of the devices and the smell of medicines.

But now he could hardly care. When Clare dropped him by one he almost ran into it like his life depended on it.

You had a car crash. Not anything too dramatic — suspected mild concussion. And hey, it wasn’t even your fault. You had priority on the road and the asshole just bumped into you.

Was he your emergency contact? Strangely yes — after all he was needing you way more than you did in the matters like that.

And honestly it was lowkey embarrassing to lay in the hospital now, connected to the IV and the beeping machines that made your headache only worse — knowing that your boyfriend had this not so great memories with hospitals and you were making him come to one.

You laid on your side — curled up with your forehead pressed to the cold side handle-thingy of the bed and the IV dripping slowly down the tube. You opened your eyes lifting your head with a wince at the sound of doors opening.

He walked into the room with expression you never had seen before — startled and nervous before his eyes scanned over you and he visibly relaxed.

“Thank God” he mumbled before as if remembering, sitting down on the chair next to you bed “How you’re feeling?” despite his face looking relieved his voice was still strained — like he was afraid of what you might say next.