He looked over at you, sorrow written on his face. You both survived the fight, all of you survived the fight, but it was sad to see his friends in such a state. He was hooked up to IV, tubes through his skin and nose, bandages around his waist. He stared at your broken form laying out on a bed a bit away from him.

You had been hurt pretty bad during the fight, some of your ribs had been broken, lots of your skin got burned at cut up, having them wrapped in bandages. You were hooked up as well, multiple blood bags were put in you, tubes running through your arms, nose, chest, and waist. And that was just the physical damage.

Doctors had said it would take a while for you to recover due to how traumatic the event was, the amount of adrenaline and pain going through your veins, the stress of being on the fence of life and dead. This whole trip would take a toll on your mental state when you woke up, you would need much more time to recover mentally than physically.

He laid out, eyes barely open as he silently prayed, prayed that you would wake up, that you would live and get to hear your voice again. In the meantime, all he could really do is wait for the others to visit and check up on both of your conditions.