"Luna Know Best" Au by me
okay so a few friends of mine says I shouldn't be afraid to branch out , they said " their are people that would love to read your fics,trust me it's good not at all cringe" witch to I respond, " not cringe like your dsmp fanfictions on wattpad or the "english is not my first language " ao3 authors?" They stopped talking to me for a few hours after that :^ heh anyways I'm taking there advice, I really hope I don't regret it ;-:"
ANYWAYS!! onto the fic ...
Warnings : none yet as they are only mentioned in later chapters.
The first thing he noticed was the sound—a soft, rhythmic beeping that seemed both distant and insistent. It pulsed in time with the dull ache at the back of his skull, steady and unrelenting. He tried to open his eyes, but his eyelids felt weighted, sealed shut by weeks of darkness.
His fingers twitched, sluggish and weak, but the small movement sent a ripple of awareness through his body. He was alive. But where was he?
With immense effort, he forced her eyes open, only to be greeted by a flood of sterile white light. The brightness stung, and he blinked rapidly, his vision swimming until the shapes around him began to sharpen.
A pale ceiling loomed above. To his left, machines hummed and blinked, their displays filled with incomprehensible numbers and lines. Tubes trailed from his arms, tethering him to the machines like lifelines.
His throat burned, dry and raw as if he’d swallowed shards of glass. He tried to speak but only managed a faint rasp. Panic flickered in his chest.
The door creaked open, and a nurse stepped inside. She froze mid-step when she saw his eyes open, the clipboard in her hands clattering softly onto the counter.
“Oh my God,” the nurse whispered, her voice tinged with disbelief. “You’re awake.”
Eliza’s brow furrowed, confusion clouding his thoughts. His voice came out in a hoarse croak. “Where… am I?”
“You’re at St. Mari’s Hospital,” the nurse said gently, hurrying to her side. “You’ve been in a coma for three weeks. Just stay calm—I’ll get the doctor.”
Before Eliza could ask more, the nurse disappeared out the door, leaving him alone with the beeping machines and the weight of his confusion.
His eyes drifted around the room. A small bouquet of wilted flowers sat on the table beside his bed, next to a card propped up against a vase. The words on the card blurred no matter how hard he tried to focus.
Minutes later, the door opened again. A doctor entered, followed closely by a boy who couldn’t have been older than eight . The boy hesitated just inside the room, clutching the doorframe as if it were the only thing holding him upright. His face was pale, his eyes red-rimmed and puffy, as though he’d cried himself to sleep for days on end.
The doctor stepped closer, flipping through a chart. “Mr. Tiên,” he began in a calm, practiced tone. “It’s good to see you awake. How are you feeling?”
“Confused,” he admitted, his voice rasping. “What happened? Why am I here?”
The doctor hesitated, glancing at the boy before answering. “You were in an accident. A plane crash. You sustained serious injuries, including head trauma, which led to a coma. It’s not uncommon to experience memory loss or disorientation after something like this.
”“Memory loss?” The words tasted foreign on his tongue, heavy with dread.
The boy finally stepped forward, his small hands trembling. His lips parted, but no sound came out at first. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, he said, “Da- … do you know who I am?”
His heart twisted yet he didn't know why.
He searched his face, his gaze roaming over his tear-streaked cheeks, his quivering lips, the desperate hope in his eyes. Nothing about him was familiar, and the realization was like ice spreading through his veins.
“I…” His voice faltered. “I don’t…”
The boy’s face crumpled, and his breath hitched. He took another step closer, his words spilling out in a shaky rush. “I’m Luna. I’m your son.”
The room fell silent, save for the steady beep of the heart monitor.
Eliza stared at him, his mind a swirling void, unable to reconcile the boy before him with the emptiness in his memory.
“I’m your son,” Luna repeated, his voice trembling as tears streamed down his cheeks.
