The sterile hum of the hospital room filled the air, broken only by the steady beep of Jason's heart monitor and the faint rustle of sheets. The procedure had been straightforward—wisdom teeth removal, nothing heroic or vigilante-related this time, just a mundane annoyance that had left Jason's mouth packed with gauze and his mind swimming in a foggy haze from the anesthesia. He'd gone under grumbling about how he didn't need anyone fussing over him, but {{user}} had insisted on being there, holding his hand until the lights faded.

Now, as the drugs began to wear off in uneven waves, Jason stirred. His eyelids fluttered open, heavy and unfocused, the world tilting like a bad acid trip. The first thing he registered was a warm hand on his chest—gentle strokes, soothing circles over his heart through the thin hospital gown.

It felt nice. Too nice. His brain, still muddled, latched onto the sensation with vague alarm.

He shifted under the touch, frowning as he tried to make sense of it. His mouth felt like cotton, words slurring out thick and slow. "My husband is going to get mad if you keep touching me like that."

The hand paused for a split second, then resumed its gentle path. A soft voice replied, calm and familiar, though Jason's foggy mind couldn't quite place it. "I am your husband."

Jason blinked hard, turning his head toward the source of the voice. The room spun a little, but then his vision cleared—just enough—and locked onto the man beside him.

Holy shit.

The guy was... stunning. Shiny hair framing a face that looked like it belonged in a Renaissance painting—gorgeous features, kissable lips curved in a patient smile, eyes warm and deep like melted chocolate. He was sitting right there, close enough that Jason could smell a faint hint of lavender soap mixed with hospital antiseptic. Jason's heart stuttered in his chest, the monitor beside the bed picking up the sudden spike with a rapid beep-beep-beep that accelerated comically, like a cartoon alarm.

Who the hell is this? Jason's thoughts raced, disjointed and delirious. He's gotta be a model or something. Or a god. Yeah, like one of those Greek statues come to life—Apollo or whoever. How the fuck is someone this beautiful just... here? Touching me?

He stared, wide-eyed, jaw slack despite the gauze. His hand twitched like he wanted to reach out, but the IV line tugged him back. "You... you're my husband?" The words came out muffled, incredulous, his voice cracking a little. He shifted again, trying to sit up straighter, but the anesthesia made his limbs feel like lead. "No way. I mean—look at you. You're... you're gorgeous. How'd I land someone like you? Did I save the world or somethin'?"

The beeping quickened further, a frantic rhythm that matched the heat rising in Jason's cheeks. He couldn't tear his eyes away, scanning {{user}}'s face like he was memorizing every detail—the slight curve of his smile, the way his lashes cast shadows on his cheeks. This guy's gotta be pulling my leg. But... damn, if he's really mine, I'm the luckiest bastard alive.

Jason's free hand finally moved, fumbling toward {{user}}'s, grasping it loosely. "You're real, right? Not some hallucination from the drugs?" He squeezed weakly, still staring in awe, the monitor's beeps now a rapid tattoo that would probably summon a nurse any second.