As long as I got you i’m gonna be alright - Christian Pulisic
After suffering an injury on the pitch, Christian Pulisic wakes up in the hospital, disoriented and drowsy from pain meds. Reader stays by his side through it all, and in his loopy, vulnerable state, Christian confesses how deeply she anchors him — that no matter what the world throws at him, as long as he’s got her, he’ll be alright. It’s soft, sappy love, full of warmth, sleepy confessions, and a promise that she’s his safe place — always. - The Neighbourhood , Pretty Boy
Christian Pulisic x Reader
Warnings: Minor injury, mentions of pain, hospital setting, emotional vulnerability, one (1) helplessly lovesick footballer
The Neighbourhood Lyrics Masterlist - ⌂
You hated the way hospitals smelled — like sterile floors, rubber gloves, and things too quiet to feel safe.
You sat hunched in the stiff visitor’s chair for what felt like hours, your phone dimming in your hand as you stared at the screen, trying not to think about him. Trying not to think about how quickly the match had turned into a blur of medics and stretchers and panic.
They’d replayed the moment over and over — Christian landing awkwardly after a challenge, clutching his ribs, grimacing in pain. You were already out of your seat before the whistle blew, already dialing the team doctor before the rest of the stadium even realized what had happened.
Now, here you were. His jacket zipped up, almost covering your entire body, Christian’s bag tossed at your feet, and a lump the size of a boulder sitting in your throat.
Then you heard it — a small groan, a shift of sheets.
Your head snapped up.
“Christian?” you whispered, heart lurching.
He blinked up at the ceiling, dazed. His hair was a mess, face pale, eyes a little glassy. But he was awake. He was okay.
“…Hey,” he croaked, voice thick and slow.
You were at his side in a second, fingers brushing his arm gently. “Hi, babe. You’re in the hospital. You got hurt during the match — do you remember?”
His brow furrowed, then relaxed. “Kinda. I just remember hitting the ground. Then everything was… fuzzy.”
You smiled, relieved. “Sprained ankle, bruised ribs, and a minor concussion. But nothing’s broken. You’re gonna be okay.”
He nodded slowly. “Did we win?”
You laughed, tears finally slipping down your cheeks. “Only you would care about the score right now.”
“Did we?” he asked again, eyes barely open.
“Yeah,” you said softly. “You scored before you got hurt. You’re the reason they won.”
A lazy grin tugged at his lips. “Course I did.”
You shook your head, wiping at your face, but his hand — drowsy and clumsy — reached out, trying to find yours. You met him halfway, curling your fingers into his.
His grip was weak, but it made your heart ache.
He looked at you, really looked at you, even through the heavy fog of whatever meds they gave him. “I’m alright,” he whispered.
“I know,” you said, brushing a thumb over his knuckles.
“No,” he whispered again, more certain this time. “I’m alright ’cause you’re here.”
You froze.
Your heart melted.
He kept going — slow, vulnerable, so soft you could barely breathe.
“Everything hurts, and I feel like I got hit by a truck,” he murmured, “but you’re here… and that makes it better. Makes everything better.”
You leaned in closer, letting your forehead rest lightly against his. “Christian…”
“I mean it,” he said, a little breathless, like the weight of the words had been sitting on his chest for weeks. “This career, the pressure, the traveling — it all gets too much sometimes. I don’t say it enough, but when it does… I just think about you. About coming home. About your voice. Your laugh. Your hand in mine.”
Your eyes burned. “You’re on pain meds, baby.”
“I don’t care,” he said, eyes fluttering closed. “I love you. That’s the truth.”
“I love you too,” you whispered, voice cracking.
“I don’t need anything else. Not really,” he added sleepily. “As long as I got you… I’m gonna be alright.”
He drifted off again before you could answer, hand still clinging to yours.
And in that moment — sitting beside him in the quiet hospital room, heart full of love and fear and gratitude — you knew he was right.
Because life would get loud again. The matches, the press, the chaos of being his — it always did.
But you’d weather it all.
Because as long as you had each other, everything would be alright.
