[ He hears her, even if he doesn't quite comprehend the words yet. His mind is still a haze – muddled by the drugs, by the sleep whose grip he still hasn't quite shaken.
The tone helps, though. The reassurance. It's comforting, but more than that, it's—
It's Gamora.
And if he were more awake, more lucid, he'd be embarrassed by just how easily her presence soothes him, would be mortified by the reminder of just how fucking bad he has it for her.
But for now, it's just how it is. ]
What—?
[ What happened? is what he was going for, there, except he interrupts himself by stifling a cry behind his teeth when he makes the poor decision of trying to sit up. He screws his eyes shut again, falling back against the mattress as the wound throbs, and he twists his hands into the sheets beneath him. ]
no subject
The tone helps, though. The reassurance. It's comforting, but more than that, it's—
It's Gamora.
And if he were more awake, more lucid, he'd be embarrassed by just how easily her presence soothes him, would be mortified by the reminder of just how fucking bad he has it for her.
But for now, it's just how it is. ]
What—?
[ What happened? is what he was going for, there, except he interrupts himself by stifling a cry behind his teeth when he makes the poor decision of trying to sit up. He screws his eyes shut again, falling back against the mattress as the wound throbs, and he twists his hands into the sheets beneath him. ]