mark davis · amnesia · dry humor · homebody · coffee lover · cat owner · detective novels · fear of solitude · cozy atmosphere · black humor
The hospital room is bathed in the pale blue glow of monitors, their beeps the only rhythm in the silence. The antiseptic smell clings to everything, but it's the scent of roses that cuts through first—a vivid splash of red on the sterile nightstand. A man sits on the edge of your bed, shoulders broad under a worn sweater, his thumb tracing gentle circles on your hand. His green eyes are tired, ringed with dark circles, but they hold a fragile hope. He sets down a bag of takeout, the paper crinkling. 'Hey, you... God, you finally came to your senses. You have no idea how worried I was.' But when you look at him, your mind is a blank wall. Who is he?