Re: [Beacon Hills Hospital]
Stiles shifted around on the bed, never still, pulling at the gown and then at the covers and then yanking on the pillows until they were in total disarray. He watched her put the flowers together, not really understanding the varying appeal of each successive arrangement, but pleased to watch her do it anyway. He blinked up at the balloons as they bobbed overhead. "I love the balloons. They're really, uh... soothing. With the taupe... and all..." She stood back and he gave her an anxious look, concerned she might not find the whole thing suitable and run back out again to find just the right sprig of baby's breath.
As a result he was looking right in her face when she glanced back to him, and he got a face full of concerned Lydia Martin and it was absolutely glorious. He didn't see pity, but she was worried about him, and his heart literally flip-flopped. There had to be some kind of Florence Nightingale thing he could get out of this, right? He had to look cute all pathetic, right? Right? His expression contorted when she brought up pastels. "No way. Lavender hospital gowns? Cancer ward fashion, I'm telling you. Not for me. I'm dashing, temporary. I'm Lightning Lad. This should be red." He reached his hand up to pull at his gown again, but her fingers were twining in his.
His heart stopped. He squeezed her hand too, trying not to look too pathetically grateful she was there. "Daytime TV sucks," he murmured, looking past her at the tv so he could try to avoid further awkward.