Lilith found Ryle in the recovery room, his face, still covered in bandages, was pale, his brow furrowed even in sleep. She pulled a chair close to the bed, gently taking his hand in hers. It was cool and clammy, a stark contrast to the warmth she usually felt from him.
He jolted up with a sharp intake of breath, startling Lilith, pain coursing through his body. He screamed, "Turn it off! Turn it off!" repeatedly, his voice hoarse and desperate, until sedation was administered to him.
After some time, they carefully removed the gauze covering Ryle's face. But instead of relief, all he could feel was a searing pain from the light.
A few moments later, Ryle stirred, emitting a low moan. His eyes fluttered open, unfocused and vacant at first.
"Lilith?" he croaked, his voice dry and hoarse. Upon feeling Lilith's hand on his, relief flooded his features, momentarily dispelling the fear.
"Yes, Ryle," she whispered, squeezing his hand gently. "It's me. You're out of surgery.".
"Took you long enough," he rasped, his voice barely a whisper.
Lilith flinched slightly at his attempt at humor, the stark contrast between his usual bravado and his weakened state tugging at her heartstrings. But a ghost of a smile played on her lips.
"Seems more like you woke up in a horror movie with all that screaming. Care to elaborate on the 'turn it off' bit?"
Ryle grimaced, a wave of nausea rolling over him. He squeezed her hand weakly. "The... the light," he managed, his voice barely above a whisper. "It hurts."
Understanding dawned on Lilith's face. His eyes, after years of darkness, were adjusting to the harsh fluorescent glare of the recovery room.
"Oh," she murmured, her voice soft and soothing.
Ryle closed his eyes, the pain a dull throbbing behind his eyelids. Despite the discomfort, a sliver of hope flickered within him. He could feel the warmth of Lilith's hand in his, hear the concern in her voice. Even in this sterile, painful environment, a sense of comfort anchored him.
The next few days were a blur of medication, discomfort, and frustrating limitations. The world remained a painful assault of light and blurry shapes. Yet, Lilith remained a constant presence by his side, her voice a beacon in the storm of confusion. She described everything, from the worried faces of the doctors to the paintings near his hospital bed.
One afternoon, as Lilith read aloud from a travel magazine, a spark of his old defiance flickered to life.
"Seriously, love?" he croaked, his voice hoarse. "Picturesque sunsets and crystal-clear beaches? Don't you think that's a tad... optimistic for my current situation?"
Lilith chuckled, a warm sound that filled the sterile room. "Maybe," she admitted. "But wouldn't you rather have something to look forward to? Something to fight for?"
A wry smile played on Ryle's lips beneath the gauze. "Fight for? Sounds more like I'm about to enter the Hunger Games – blindfolded and battling fluorescent bulbs."
Lilith squeezed his hand gently. "Alright, Grumpy," she teased, the nickname dripping with affection. "But you have to admit, the thought of seeing an actual sunset, not just my flowery descriptions, is pretty exciting, right?"
"Maybe," he conceded, a hint of hope peeking through his sarcasm. "Just promise me the first thing I see won't be another sterile white wall, Lily."
"My love," she whispered, leaning down to plant a soft kiss on his cheek, the warmth a beacon in his darkness. "I promise."
Their conversation was interrupted by the gentle creak of the door opening. A cheerful nurse bustled in, her smile as bright as the lights Ryle found so offensive.
"Alright, Mr. Wright, time to head home!" she chirped. "Remember, take it slow, one step at a time. Light sensitivity for a while, so keep those sunglasses handy. And for any discomfort," she continued, holding up a blue-wrapped ice pack, "ice on your eyes and forehead will be your best friend."
Ryle groaned internally. Sunglasses and ice packs – he felt less like a recovering surgery patient and more like a contestant on a particularly boring reality show.
After a very long process of paperwork and goodbyes, Lilith helped him into the passenger seat of her car. As she buckled him in, he couldn't resist one last jab.
"So," he mumbled, placing his hand on the gauze covering his eyes, "driving me around blindfolded with ice packs strapped to my face? Maybe not what I had in mind for our first post-surgery outing."
Lilith burst out laughing, the sound a balm to his sensitive ears. "Patience, Ray. We'll get you back to your usual brand of adventure soon enough. But for now," she grinned, putting the car in gear, "enjoy the ride."
On their ride home, Ryle's mind was racing constantly. He was thinking about everything that could go wrong. Yet, amidst the discomfort, a warmth bloomed in Ryle's chest. He was finally leaving the sterile confines of the hospital, heading back to their home – their penthouse, a thought that brought a comforting familiarity.
As Lilith helped him settle onto the plush couch, a wave of exhaustion washed over him. The ordeal of the surgery and the constant strain on his eyes had taken their toll. But before he could drift off, a knock on the door startled him.
"Who could that be at this hour?" Lilith muttered, heading towards the door.
Ryle's heart lurched. A sliver of apprehension snaked through him as the door creaked open. Standing on the other side were Julia and Oliver, their faces etched with concern.
"Hey, Ryle!" boomed Julia's voice, although he couldn't make out her expression.
"Julia," he responded cautiously. He could sense Oliver's presence beside her, but remained silent.
Lilith ushered them inside, offering them both warm smiles. "Come in you two," she said, her voice slightly strained.
The evening that unfolded surprised even Ryle. Conversation flowed, albeit with some strained silences directed at Oliver. They decided to play a board game, a familiar pastime from their old days.
"Board games, huh?" Julia chuckled, pulling out a chair. "Let's see if you're still as rusty as you were at remembering trivia, Ryle."
A competitive glint flickered in his voice. "Don't underestimate me, Julia. Even post op, I can still outsmart you."
The game began, filled with playful banter and good-natured teasing. The air crackled with a familiar tension, a reminder of their past rivalry.
"Wait a minute, Lilith," Julia interjected during the game, a playful smile in her voice. "You said you were helping Ryle recover. Does that mean you... live together now?"
Lilith's cheeks flushed crimson, a telltale sign Ryle recognized even without seeing her. "Uh, well..." she stammered, her voice barely a whisper.
Ryle squeezed her hand under the table, offering silent support. "We, uh, haven't officially discussed it," he interjected, his voice calm despite the blush creeping up his own neck.
Oliver remained silent, his gaze fixed on the game board. The tension in the room was palpable, a silent acknowledgment of the history between him and Lilith.
Despite the awkward moment, the game continued, laughter eventually filling the room once more.
"Hey, hey, hey," she protested playfully, "a little help here, team love?"
Ryle chuckled, reaching across the table and squeezing her hand reassuringly. "Don't worry, Lily. I think I can handle this."
He launched into a series of impressive answers, drawing on his knowledge of niche historical events and obscure pop culture trivia.
As Julia and Oliver prepared to leave, Ryle reached out, his hand brushing against Oliver's arm.
"Thanks for coming, Oliver," he said sincerely.
Oliver hesitated for a moment, then nodded curtly. "Anytime, Ryle. Get well soon."
A flicker of unspoken emotions passed between them, a silent acknowledgment of their past and a cautious truce for the future.
After their departure, Lilith settled next to Ryle on the couch, her hand finding his.
Ryle was genuinely happy.