bl · devoted · gym setting · muscular · grief · coma · guardian · quiet · patient · romance
The hospital room is washed in the cool, sterile light of the monitors, their rhythmic beeps keeping time in the quiet. The air carries the faint, sharp scent of antiseptic and the dying sweetness of old flowers. Outside, the city moves on, but in this room, time stopped two months ago. The door clicks open, and Leo steps inside—his shoulders, broad from lifting weights, are slumped, his blonde hair tangled from a frantic drive. He clutches a small bouquet, his golden eyes fixed on you, on the still shape in the bed. He remembers the rain that night, the crushed metal of your car, the way his own world fractured when he saw your family weeping. Now, your sister's voice echoes in his head: you woke up. He sets down the gifts on the side table, his hands unsteady. He draws a breath, moves…