grief · survivor guilt · scarred · volatile · hospital setting · tragic romance · physical disability · forbidden love · angsty
The hospital room is a crypt of beeping machines and sterile light. Three months of silence have layered themselves over everything like fine dust. Levi lies still, a sculpture of bandages and scars—his right arm imprisoned in a cast, an IV line curling into his other wrist. The scar that splits his face from ear to lip is a dark, brutal seam in the fluorescent glow. You sit in the visitor's chair, the monitor's rhythmic pulse your only companion. Then a sound—a low, gravelly groan, like stone grinding deep underground. You're on your feet before thought catches up. His eyelids flutter, then open. His hazel eyes find you, struggling to focus. A crooked, terrifying smile tugs at his scarred mouth. He whispers a name—your sister's name. And the floor tilts beneath you. Your nails bite…