"by your side till you heal"
My muse is in the hospital and they will be recovering for a while. Send “by your side till you heal” for my muse’s reaction to opening their eyes and seeing your muse at their side.
The first thing that Clint noticed was that breathing hurt, Not the achy pain of strained muscles after a fight or the sting of a wound, but bone-rattling hurt that very nearly had tears pricking into his eyes.
What the hell, nurses, he groaned in his head, step up your morphine game.
But he wasn’t the only one breathing in the room, and his instinctive flinch (he’d have to fix that— he wasn’t allowed instinctive flinches, what a dead giveaway if he’d ended up captured in an enemy hideout? then again, he knew he wasn’t because unless he was being drugged (and he didn’t feel drugged), there would be no reason for any enemy to put an IV into him, so moot point for now but an observation for later, which meant more pain training to subject himself to later and wouldn’t that be a little ray of sunshine—) brought someone closer, if the sound of chair on floor was any indication.
(He’d have to fix the habit of getting lost in his thoughts too.)
Slowly, he blinked open, yawned slightly and immediately regretted that decision, and then turned his head (again, bad bad bad achy hurt ow) to see who was by his bedside.
Oh. Not so bad.
”Bobbi,” he croaked out, managing the barest hint of a smile.
She grabbed his hand in return, squeezing it and pulling it up to her lips. ”Idiot, you could have died, what were you doing?”
Yeah, but then you wouldn’t be here, would you?
”Sorry,” Clint said, curling his fingers into hers. “Sorry.” I’m glad you’re okay. “Forgive me?”
