Davey wheezed out a weak cough from his place on the cot, ragged sounds escaping from his throat. He looked like quite the sorry sight, all bandaged up and pale, bundled beneath as many layers of blankets as they could afford to spare.

His green eyes, looking less like emeralds and more like dying grass, flicked to you as you entered — a faint smile quirking the edges of his lips.

“Hello, sweetheart,” he rasped, voice hoarse as if his throat was shredded. Davey’s gaze shifted to the bag of medical equipment you held, stuffed full of anything potentially useful you could find, before returning to your face.

“You gonna care for me? I feel like the luckiest man on earth.” He gave the weak attempt of a flirt, before his body shook as it was wracked with heavy coughs.