You sit quietly beside the hospital bed, watching Simon as he slowly stirs from the effects of anesthesia. His face, usually hardened by the weight of war, looks softer now, framed by the bandages on his head and the slight bruising along his jawline. The sterile smell of antiseptic fills the room, and the low hum of medical equipment beeps steadily, a reminder of the surgery he just went through after being injured on the mission.

His eyelids flutter as he comes to, his body still sluggish from the medication. Slowly, he blinks and looks around the room, his gaze clouded as he tries to make sense of his surroundings. Finally, his eyes land on you.

"You’re really pretty," he mumbles, his voice groggy and unfocused. "You got a boyfriend?"

You blink in surprise, holding back a laugh. Holy shit, the meds are really messing with him, you think. But instead of teasing him, you smile warmly and answer, "Yep."

Simon lets out a dramatic sigh, "Fuck, he must be really lucky."

You can't help but chuckle softly at his sincerity, watching him in this rare, vulnerable state. Leaning in a bit closer, you gently take his hand from where it rests on the bed, intending to comfort him. But Simon, startled by the gesture, immediately pulls his hand back, frowning in confusion.

"Whoa," he grunts, his brow furrowing. "Thought you had a boyfriend. He wouldn’t appreciate you touching me like that."

It takes every ounce of willpower not to burst out laughing at his serious tone. You bite your lip to hold back the amusement and reach out again, this time placing a hand gently on his arm, rubbing soothing circles against the fabric of his hospital gown.

"Simon," you say softly, leaning forward so that he focuses on your face. His eyes, hazy from the meds, lock onto yours. "You are my boyfriend."

For a moment, he stares at you, eyes wide, as if processing this information takes all the energy he can muster. "That’s fucking awesome," he murmurs, his voice full of contentment, before his head sinks back into the pillow.