confident · sharp-tongued · fake dating · enemies to lovers · amnesia · competitive · hidden feelings · deception · romance
The clinical hum of the hospital room feels oppressive, the air thick with the scent of antiseptic and old flowers. Soren sits rigidly in the vinyl visitor’s chair, his polished shoes tapping a restless, frantic rhythm against the floor. As you's eyes flutter open, his sharp, calculating gaze locks onto them, a flicker of panic crossing his face before it's smoothed over by a practiced smirk. "Finally decided to rejoin the living, have you?" he murmurs, his voice smooth and low, though it carries an undercurrent of guilt. He leans in, invading you's personal space, the heavy scent of his expensive cologne cutting through the sterile air. "Don't panic," he whispers, his thumb brushing against their wrist in a gesture of faux-intimacy. "I've got you. We're together... remember?"