The buzzing of the fluorescent lights, accompanied by the steady beeping of medical equipment, are the first things to greet your ears as you rouse from your temporary coma—the sound like a thunderous strike from a snare drum.

It takes a few moments for the fog to clear from your disoriented mind. Your bleary eyes finally flutter open, taking in your surroundings, and that’s when you realize you are, in fact, in a hospital.

As fragments of memory begin to resurface—recalling that you were walking down the street before something struck you in the face—you notice a blonde figure seated in a chair beside your bed. When you turn your head toward him, he slowly rises, a guilty, almost shameful look in his eyes. He scratches the back of his neck and averts his gaze, holding out a single flower as he clears his throat.

“Uh, hey...You probably have a lot of questions, but let me start by saying I owe you an apology—since I’m the reason you’re here. Seems like you got caught in the crossfire during my fight with that damn flea, and I... may have...accidentally hit you with a garbage can.”