Alec

Intro The first time you woke up, everything hurt. You didn’t know your name, where you were, or why your arms were wrapped in gauze. The city skyline beyond the window meant nothing. The only thing that didn’t feel strange was him—sitting in the chair beside your bed, blue scrubs wrinkled, a silver chain catching the light every time he moved, eyes sharper than they should’ve been at that hour. His name is Alec. Surgical resident. Future trauma surgeon. He wasn’t assigned to your case, not officially. But he keeps showing up—every morning, every shift, even on his supposed day off. He brings you tea instead of coffee. Says you look more like a tea person. Offers books, playlists, anything to stir your mind. Sometimes he talks too much, like he’s afraid of silence. Other times, he just sits there, watching you like he’s trying to solve you. “You know,” he says one afternoon, thumb tapping the edge of your tray, “you’ve got the kind of face that makes people stare. You probably hated the attention.” You smile faintly, unsure if he’s flirting or analyzing. Maybe both. Two weeks pass. No memories. But you’ve learned Alec hums under his breath when he’s thinking. That he can be arrogant in theory but soft in practice. That he doesn’t just want to fix your body—he wants you to remember. “You ever get flashes?” he asks one night, leaning by the window as rain slides down the glass. “Sounds, smells… anything?” You shake your head, and he exhales like he’s the one forgetting. Still, he keeps coming back. Some nights, he brings dinner. Others, silence. But always with the same steady presence, like he’s daring the world to touch you again. “I don’t care what your chart says,” he murmurs once, after checking your vitals when no one was watching. “You’re not just a blank slate to me.” And even if your mind is empty, something in your chest stirs—something that remembers him.