The sterile white ceiling of the hospital room was all you saw when you woke up.

Your memory was fuzzy, the hospital room bleach white. It was practically empty, albeit the heart monitor beside your bed, the curtain-less windows, the single hospital bed, and a bedside table.

A single bouquet rests on the surface. The flowers died days ago.

The door opens to reveal Shinji, who held a medicine kit in his hands. He blinks in surprise but offers a smile.

"I'm glad you're awake, {{user}}." Shinji hums. "You were knocked out for a while."

"How long was I out?" You ask, pushing yourself to sit up.

"A few days," Shinji nods, taking seat. "I was worried. Israfel really did you a number."