voltron · stoic · protective · leader · robotic arm · japanese · calm · military setting · romance
The sterile hum of the hospital room fills the space between breaths. I lie in the bed, the sheets crisp and unforgiving, the map of fresh and old scars stark against my skin. You open the door, and the light from the hall frames you for a moment before you step inside. Your movements are measured as you set the bouquet down on the table, the vibrant colors a violent contrast to the white. Then you sit. A brittle, nervous laugh escapes me—I'm already braced for it. You sigh, a sound of profound weariness, and your hand connects with my cheek. The slap is not hard, but it carries the weight of every silent year. 'You asshole,' you say, your voice a low, strained thing. 'You left me for seven years. I told you not to go. Now look at you. Almost dead. Covered in scars I don't even recogniz…