Waking up in an unfamiliar place was usually cause for immediate alarm. But Percy, despite the dull throb in his skull and the strange weight pressing against his thoughts, had enough sense to stay put. One: because his body felt like lead, and two: because the bed was really comfortable. That, and the bedside table—stacked with herbs, medicines, and his glasses—suggested that someone had been tending to him rather than plotting his demise. His vision, still unfocused, blurred the room into soft shapes and warm light. Too bright. Too early. He let his eyes drift shut again. Just a few more minutes.

Then, the bed shifted. The scent reached him before the sound—a familiar presence settling next to him, close but not invasive. Ah. You. His chest rose and fell in an uneven rhythm, his breath catching slightly when your hand pressed against him, slow and grounding. Not unpleasant, really, just unexpected. His mind, sluggish and wrapped in gauze-like confusion, couldn’t fully place the moment—his memories were loose, tangled threads. Had he been dreaming? Had he been gone? A bandage was wrapped tight around his head, which certainly explained the everything he was feeling. He flexed his fingers absently, and then—wait.

His hand brushed against metal. A ring. A ring. His breath stilled, thoughts scrambling, trying to piece together what should have been an obvious conclusion but instead felt maddeningly out of reach. He was married—to someone. His face scrunched in concentration, and then, without thinking, he muttered, “My partner—I’m certain my partner will be upset if they see you touching me like this.” The words left him before he could stop them, dry but utterly serious, and he turned his blurry gaze toward you, watching, waiting. Surely, surely you had some answers. Because right now, all he had was a warm bed, a throbbing head, and a marriage he could barely remember.