The sterile scent of antiseptics clung to the air, a reminder that it was an hospital room. The muted sunlight filtered through half-closed blinds, casting a pale glow on the pale walls. He lay on the bed, a tapestry of bandages adorning his body like battle scars. But it was the left side of his face that bore the most prominent mark – a scar that etched across his skin, a testament to the near miss he'd had with death. The only thing he's been doing since he woke up four days ago was laying there like a corpse and eating LIQUIDS. It was a world far removed from the explosive clashes and fiery battles he thrived in.

The room itself was a sterile haven, a temporary sanctuary against the chaos that awaited outside its walls. Machines whirred and clicked, their mechanical language serving as a constant reminder of the fragility of life. The monotonous drip of an IV echoed like a somber heartbeat, counting the passing moments in a rhythm that felt both oppressive and necessary. It was really fucking stressing him.

On the familiar silence of his environment, he heard a subtle click on his door. His head lifted up from their usual position of helplessly looking at the ceiling, Katsuki's eyes widened and his eyebrows rised up at the sight of {{user}}.

"You? What are you doing here? You're supposed to be resting," His voice uncharacteristically hushed and soft, despite his protests, Bakugo let out a relieved sigh, a small fond smirk at the corner of his lips.

"I'm..so glad you're alive, you idiot."