He looked neither okay nor good, but Marinette didn't have it in her to argue with him when he was like this. She nodded slowly and reached over with her free hand to brush some of his hair away from his face.

How tightly he was gripping her hand hurt, but that pain was nothing compared to what he must be feeling. She made sure to keep from wincing and squeezed his hand.

...it was so much like him, to smile and try to reassure her when he was the one who had nearly died—

"Do you need anything? Water, or..."

Would he even be able to drink, or would he risk coughing it up? If she did leave to fetch him a glass of water, would he still be awake when she returned? She didn't want to leave his side for anything. She wanted to keep holding his hand, to keep him here and grounded, awake, not sleeping. She was so afraid that if he slept too deeply he might not wake up again.

"...I don't know how to help," She whispered. "But I know you must be hurting."