Chapter 2: The Doctor's Proposal
Waking up in a hospital was weird.
Waking up twice in a hospital was even weirder.
The first time, everything was a fog—blurry lights, beeping machines, and a man in a white coat who looked like he hadn't slept in about twenty years. Bright barely registered anything beyond, Oh crap, I got shot, before his brain shut down again.
The second time? Yeah, he was painfully aware.
His left thigh throbbed like someone had decided to brand him with a red-hot poker. His back felt like he'd been folded up and stuffed into a suitcase. His head was fuzzy, and he was pretty sure whatever brain cells he had left were considering retirement.
The only upside? He wasn't dead.
Silver linings and all that.
The days blurred together.
Wake up.
Eat bland hospital food.
Get poked by nurses.
Sleep.
Repeat.
It sucked.
Bright never realized how loud the orphanage had been until he was stuck in a place where the loudest thing was the heart monitor beeping beside him. No kids running around. No Toby kicking the wall. Just silence—long, heavy, and way too empty.
He hated it.
Dr. Roland was the only person who made things bearable.
The guy was… weird.
Not in a creepy way—just off.
He was too casual for a doctor, always leaning against the doorframe like he was five minutes away from sneaking out for a cigarette. He made bad jokes, half the time forgot his clipboard, and definitely ran on caffeine and sarcasm instead of sleep.
"You look like crap," Roland said one morning, dropping a file on the bedside table.
Bright blinked at him. "I got shot. What's your excuse?"
"Medical school."
"…Fair."
The visits became routine.
Roland would pop in, check his chart, crack a joke, then hang around for a while—sometimes reading, sometimes sneaking him snacks the nurses definitely weren't supposed to let him have.
One day, he brought in a portable game console like it was the most normal thing in the world.
Bright stared at it like he'd just been handed the holy grail.
"You serious?"
Roland smirked. "You've got two options—sit here and count ceiling cracks or learn how to beat me at this racing game."
Bright snatched the console.
"You're going down, old man."
It was… nice.
Weird, definitely. But nice.
Roland never treated him like a charity case. He didn't ask about the orphanage. He didn't ask about the scar that ran down Bright's forearm or why a kid his age already knew how to make himself invisible in a crowd.
He just… hung out.
For the first time in forever, Bright felt like someone actually saw him.
When discharge day finally came, Bright was equal parts relieved and… weirdly disappointed.
Social services had lined up another orphanage. Another building full of strangers. Another reset button on his life.
He should've been used to it by now.
But that morning, as Bright stared at the neatly folded clothes the nurses had left for him, Roland leaned against the doorway—casual, like always.
"…Or," the doctor said.
Bright glanced at him.
"Or what?"
"I could take you in."
Bright's brain short-circuited.
"You… what?"
Roland shrugged, like he was offering to buy lunch instead of, you know, adopting a whole kid.
"You've got nowhere to go. I could use the company. My place is quiet."
Bright squinted. "That's not a normal reason to adopt a kid."
Roland smirked. "Neither is getting shot to save someone else. But here we are."
Touché.
Bright didn't say yes immediately.
People didn't stick around. He knew that by now. Most adults came into his life with good intentions and left before they could get attached.
But Roland?
He didn't look at Bright with pity.
He didn't act like he was doing him some kind of favor.
He just… asked.
Like it was Bright's decision to make.
The social worker arrived later that day. She was polite, professional, and totally convinced Bright would choose the orphanage.
Instead, Bright took a deep breath, glanced at the weird, sleep-deprived doctor leaning against the wall—
And made his choice.
"I'll go with him."
Roland grinned like he'd won a bet.
"Good choice, kid."
Bright had no idea what he'd just signed up for.
But for the first time in a long time…
It felt like things might actually be okay.