⋆𐙚 ̊ Saving him ⸝⸝

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

Keith came to with a low, ragged groan, the kind that sounded dragged up from somewhere deep and bruised. The dull ache beneath the bandages made him flinch before he even opened his eyes. When he finally did, the room swam into focus in slow, uneven waves — soft lamplight, unfamiliar walls, the faint scent of antiseptic mixed with something warm and lived‐in.

He pushed himself upright, every movement stiff and reluctant, one hand bracing against the couch while the other rose to his temple. His fingers brushed over the edge of a bandage there, and his breath hitched. Too familiar. Too recent.

His gaze drifted around the room — the blanket you’d tucked around him, the glass of water on the table, the quiet safety of a place that clearly wasn’t his.

“Shit...” he muttered, voice roughened to sandpaper. He swallowed, tried again, softer this time, like he wasn’t sure he wanted the answer. “Where... am I?”

The question hung in the air, heavy with confusion, pain, and the faintest thread of guarded vulnerability.

+ Other Variants!! (beach, etc.)