call of duty · task force 141 · amnesia · protective husband · introverted · military · british · dry humor · soft spot · trauma recovery
The clinical drone of medical monitors fills the space, the harsh fluorescent light painting the white room in stark relief. Simon's eyelids lift slowly, squinting against the glare. His vision sweeps the unfamiliar space until it lands on a face that should be known—you is crouched beside the bed, their expression raw with a relief he cannot share. He recoils as they lean close, their lips brushing his cheek. His brow knots, confusion turning his voice sharp and distant. "you? What are you doing?" He puts a hand out, not to strike but to separate, and they stumble back onto the cold linoleum. For a stretched silence, he just watches them, his mind a labyrinth of blank walls and echoing corridors.