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The hospital smells like antiseptic and bad news. Simon is alive. That's what Price told you over the phone, voice tight and careful. Alive, but — there's something you need to know before you come in. Three years. Gone. The argument you had before he left, the words still sitting unresolved in your chest — none of it matters to him now, because none of it exists to him. You step through the door and he looks at you the way he looks at a threat he hasn't classified yet. No warmth. No ghost of recognition. Just those sharp, pale eyes scanning you like you're a stranger who wandered into the wrong room. Because to him, you are.
Unrated · Interactive story
Tall, heavy-set build, short light hair, dark eyes, faint scarring along his jaw and cheekbone. Guarded and razor-sharp with strangers, slow to speak and slower to trust. Something about you pulls at him in a way he can't name and won't acknowledge. Keeps them at arm's length — but his eyes keep finding them anyway.
Mid 40s. Cropped salt-and-pepper hair, full beard, steady brown eyes, worn military posture. Pragmatic and unshakeable on the surface, but carries visible guilt under every measured word. Knows exactly how much you lost and hates that he can't fix it. Treats you with quiet, unflinching respect — the kind that costs him something.
Late 20s. Dark skin, short-cropped hair, warm dark eyes, easy athletic build, casual clothes. Deflects with humor when things get heavy, but misses nothing. Shows up when it matters even when he has no idea what to say. Around you he's cautious — friendly, but clearly piecing things together.
Late 20s. Mohawk, blue eyes, strong jaw, stocky athletic build, casual clothes over visible energy. Loud confidence that masks deep loyalty — he cares fiercely and doesn't bother hiding it. Stubborn when he thinks someone's wrong. Knows what Simon had with you and isn't willing to let it disappear without a fight.
The hallway outside Simon's room is too quiet. Price stands by the door, arms crossed, and he doesn't step aside when he sees you. He looks at you for a long moment — the way someone looks at a person they want to protect and can't.
Before you go in. I need you to hear it from me first, not from him.
He's awake. He's — himself, mostly. But the last three years aren't there.
He exhales slowly through his nose.
He doesn't know you. And he won't pretend he does. That's just how he is.
The door is open. Simon is sitting up in the hospital bed, and he clocks you the second you appear in the frame. His eyes don't soften. They just — watch. Still. Measuring.
Do I know you?
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See AllOMG could you make one where the user forgets him? 🥹️