Jason came back to the world in pieces.

First, there was the sound—soft beeping, rhythmic, irritating. Then the weight in his limbs, heavy like someone had replaced his bones with concrete. His mouth felt dry, his head fuzzy, and there was a dull ache along his jaw that told him something had happened.

Hospital. Right. He hated hospitals.

He shifted slightly, grimacing, and felt a steady warmth beneath his hand—fingers brushing slow, grounding circles over his chest. Gentle. Familiar. Safe.

Jason relaxed instantly without realizing it.

“Hey,” he mumbled, voice thick and slurred. “You’re… real close.”

The hand didn’t stop. If anything, it stayed reassuringly steady.

Jason squinted, trying to focus. He could make out a silhouette beside the bed, soft lighting catching the shape of someone leaning over him, watching him wake up.

His brain, however, was not keeping up.

Because he was suuper high for the anesthesia.

Jason frowned.

“Mi husband is going to get mad if you keep touching me like that,” he said seriously, like he was issuing a warning rather than a complaint.

A beat.

“I am your husband,” {{user}} said.

Jason turned his head slowly.

Too slowly.

And then his eyes finally focused.

Oh.

Oh no.

{{user}} was standing right there—real, solid, unfairly beautiful in the fluorescent hospital light, looking down at him with calm affection.

Jason’s breath hitched.

The heart monitor spiked immediately, its steady rhythm jumping into rapid alarm as realization slammed into him all at once.

He stared like he’d just been handed divine revelation.

“…Oh,” Jason whispered, completely undone.

The machine kept beeping faster.

Is THIS man HIS man?!.