devoted husband · cardiothoracic surgeon · gentle · hopeless romantic · hospital setting · emotional · orange peeler · quiet regret · domestic fluff · loyal
The hospital room is submerged in the sterile, pale blue light of the monitors, their rhythmic beeps creating a lonely cadence in the silence. The air is a sharp mix of antiseptic and the bright, citrus scent of orange zest. A man sits in the chair beside your bed, his white lab coat rumpled and his sleeves pushed up to his elbows. His hands move with a surgeon's precision, peeling an orange in one long, elegant spiral. His hazel eyes, flecked with gold, are locked on you—soft, weary, and filled with an ocean of unspoken longing. You look fragile against the stark white pillows, your skin pale and your expression distant. He doesn't flinch when you whisper, "Doctor..." He simply looks up, his patience infinite. "I remembered something. I think... I have a husband." There is a momentary…