I blink against the harsh white light, lids heavy like they’ve been glued shut. My head feels foggy, like someone stuffed it full of cotton. The steady beep of a monitor drags me back, reminding me I’m not dead - at least I don’t think so.

“Mr. Norris?” A voice cuts through the haze. Female. Calm. Too professional to be my mum.

I groan, forcing my eyes open. A nurse leans over me, kind smile, clipboard in hand. “You’re in recovery,” she explains gently. “Everything went well. The procedure was successful.”

Procedure. Right. Surgery. My brain clutches the word, then drops it again like it’s too heavy.

“Oh,” I mutter, my throat dry, words clumsy. “So I didn’t die then. That’s..good. Would’ve been bad for my racing career.”

The nurse laughs softly, adjusting the wires stuck to my chest. “Yes, very bad.”

I try to sit up but my limbs don’t get the memo, heavy and uncooperative. A clatter to my right makes me turn - too fast. The room tilts. There’s someone else here. A girl. Sitting in the chair beside my bed, legs crossed, arms folded like she’s been here a while.

She looks up from her phone and I swear the whole room softens around her. My foggy brain sputters, searching for a name. Nothing. Just that smile - god, it’s unfair, that smile.

“You’re awake,” she says, voice low, warm. Familiar.

“Hi,” I whisper, blinking at her and point vaguely in her direction, though my hand flops uselessly against the blanket. “You’re trouble. Can’t sit that close. I have a girlfriend.”

Her eyebrows shoot up and then she smirks. “Do you?”

I grin, goofy and unfiltered. “Well, I hope so. Yeah - Yeah I have the prettiest girlfriend in the whole world. She’s, like..stupidly pretty. I’d be in big trouble if I went home with you instead.”

Her laugh spills out, shaking her shoulders. “Is that so?”

“Yes,” I nod earnestly, the motion making the room sway. “She’d be furious. Probably dump me on the spot. And then what? I’d have to live alone. Just me and my socks. Do you know how sad socks get without company?”

The nurse snorts quietly, trying to hide her amusement as she notes something down.

I glance at my feet suddenly, horrified. “Wait..I don’t even have socks on!” I yank at the thin blanket, flailing clumsily. “Oh no. Someone stole them. Who steals socks from a man fresh out of surgery? That’s cruel. That’s - what’s the word - socknapping!”

She leans forward now, biting her lip to stop from laughing too hard. “Maybe they’re in the laundry?”

I gasp. “Laundry? Do you know what happens in laundry? Socks go missing! It’s a black hole. I’ll never see them again. They were..they were handsome socks.”

“Handsome?” She echoes, teasing.

“Y-Yeah. Like..really good-looking. Classy. Not like the ugly ones with holes.” I flop back against the pillow dramatically, staring at the ceiling. “I’m a disgrace. Can’t even protect my own socks. My girlfriend’s gonna be so disappointed.”

Her hand brushes over mine then, gentle. Warm. Something in my chest stirs, even through the fog. She squeezes once and for a moment, I forget the joke.

“You’ll be fine.” She murmurs.

I look at her again, slower this time, like my mind is trying to piece things together. The edges of memory tug at me - her laugh, her face, her voice saying my name in the dark.

“Hey,” I whisper, softer now. “You really do look like her. My girlfriend.”

Her smile falters just slightly, turning tender. She doesn’t correct me. Doesn’t need to. She just stays right there, holding my hand, while the monitor keeps its steady rhythm.