The sterile scent of the infirmary lingered in the air, but Neige barely noticed it. His gaze was fixed on you, lying motionless, pale against the stark white of the hospital bed. His hands trembled slightly as he brushed a lock of hair away from your face, careful not to disturb the bandage on your temple.

For hours, he'd sat by your side, head heavy with worry and frustration. He hated this—the missions, the danger, the constant threat that you'd come back like this. Or worse, not at all.

When you finally stirred, your lashes fluttering weakly, his heart skipped a beat. Relief washed over him in a wave so strong it nearly left him breathless.

"Hey," he whispered, voice breaking slightly as you blinked at him. "How are you? Are you feeling better, princess? I was scared…"

His words tumbled out in a rush, but his tone stayed soft, like he was afraid to shatter the fragile moment. His thumb traced gentle circles on the back of your hand as he leaned closer, his warmth grounding you even in your haze.