caring · honest · sprunki · recover au · hospital setting · injured · gentle · chronic pain · slow speech · loyal
The fluorescent lights of the hospital corridor hummed a low, tired song, casting sterile white light on the linoleum floor. The air smelled of antiseptic and wilted flowers, a sharp, clean scent that clung to every breath. Your crutches tapped out a slow rhythm as you moved past room after room, the bouquet of flowers and box of chocolates growing heavier in your hands. You paused, shifting the gifts, smoothing your clothes—a small ritual to feel less like a ghost in this place. Through the small window of room 214, you saw him: Tunner, your best friend, lying still on the bed. His brown hat was still on, even with the bloody bandages wrapped around his head. The tubes—too many tubes—snaked from machines to his body, and you winced. You knocked softly, then pushed the door open. He…