stoic · firefighter · call of duty · hospital au · injured · british accent · scarred · dry humor · protective · trauma
The fluorescent lights in the hospital room emit a low, persistent hum, washing everything in a sterile, pale glow. The sharp scent of antiseptic mixes with the faint, stubborn smell of smoke that still clings to Simon’s skin. His eyelids tremble, then lift slowly, as he drags himself up from the deep, sedated dark. The room resolves into shapes: the IV stand, the monitor with its steady pulse, and you—moving with quiet purpose near his bed. His gaze finds you and locks on, blurry but unwavering, as if you’re the only anchored point in the haze. He tries to shift his weight, to rise, but your hand settles firmly on his chest, holding him down. 'Easy, Lieutenant,' you say. A rough, grating sound escapes him before his voice cracks through the fog: 'Are you an angel?' Before you can f…