daily dreamer @dallyna - Tumblr Blog

hear me out I just read your last yunho fic and I'm literally sobbing. my bias is san so I was wondering if you could write and angsty fic about him. like one where him and the girl argue he says some hurtful words and then something bad happens. you can choose. pretty pleaseeee 😭😭

ᴏɴᴄᴇ ᴀ ʟᴏᴠᴇʀ, ɴᴏᴡ ᴀ ᴍᴇᴍᴏʀʏ

Choi San x Female Reader

Word count : 11k (I'm sorry again)

Genre : angst, tragedy, romance, slight fluff here and there, hurt no comfort, psychological drama

Summary : San mistakes Y/N’s increasing forgetfulness for indifference, assuming she has stopped caring about their relationship. Blinded by frustration, he ends things in a cruel, heated argument on his birthday. However, when her silence stretches on for weeks, he realizes that her clumsiness was hiding a terrifying secret, one she didn't even know she was keeping. By the time he returns to make things right, he finds that the woman he loves hasn't just forgotten the breakup. She has forgotten him entirely.

Warnings : medical trauma, verbal/emotional abuse, unintentional gaslighting, heavy angst, harsh breakup, memory loss, use of medical themes and illnesses, suggestive (short makeup sex scene), bittersweet ending

*Y/N = your name

A/N : Thank you for the request. I'm not sure if this is what you asked for, but here we are. I hope you like it ♡

MINORS DNI ❗ MINORS DNI ❗ MINORS DNI

The scent of brewing coffee was the only thing grounding Y/N to the morning. She stood in the middle of the kitchen, a frown creasing her forehead, one hand hovering over the counter.

"Babe? You okay?"

San walked in, hair still damp from the shower, a towel slung low around his hips. He looked at her with that soft, affectionate grin that always made her heart flutter, even after two years.

"I..." Y/N blinked, looking down at her empty hands. "I was looking for the sugar. I swear I just had the jar in my hand a second ago."

San chuckled, walking over to wrap his arms around her waist from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder. He reached out and tapped the jar sitting directly in front of the toaster, right where she had looked three times.

"It’s right there, sleepyhead." he teased, kissing her cheek. "You’d lose your head if it wasn't attached to your neck. Lucky you have me to keep track of things for you."

Y/N laughed, though a small, cold shiver of confusion ran down her spine. "Right. I’m just... tired, I guess."

"Just clumsy." San corrected affectionately, pouring the coffee. "Drink up. We can’t be late for the meeting today.

She froze. "M-meeting?"

San stopped with the coffee pot mid-air, a thin stream of steam rising between them. He turned to look at her, his eyebrows pulling together in a look of genuine confusion.

"The quarterly budget review?" He said it slowly, as if he were testing her. "With the regional manager? The one we stayed up until 2 AM working on two nights ago?"

Y/N felt the blood drain from her face. She racked her brain, searching for a file, an image, a conversation, anything. She tried to picture the last two nights, but it was like trying to grab smoke with her bare hands. There was nothing there. Just a smooth, terrifying blankness where the memory should have been.

"I..." She stammered, her heart hammering against her ribs.

How could I forget that? We worked on it together.

San let out a short, incredulous breath and set the coffee pot down a little harder than necessary. "Babe, tell me you’re joking. You have the flash drive in your bag. You’re presenting the second half."

"Right!" Y/N blurted out, desperation making her voice pitch higher. She needed to cover it up. She couldn't explain that she literally had no memory of the work they did. "Obviously. The budget review. I knew that. I just... my brain is still booting up. I thought for a second it was Wednesday."

San studied her face for a moment, the amusement fading into something slightly more critical. He walked over and flicked her forehead gently, but his tone was drier than before.

"It is Wednesday, Y/N." he said, shaking his head. "Seriously, you need to get it together. If you space out like this in front of the manager, I can't save you."

"I won't." she promised, gripping the counter edge until her knuckles turned white. "I'm awake now. I'm ready."

"Go get dressed." he sighed, turning back to his own breakfast. "And check your bag for the drive. Knowing you, you probably put it in the fridge."

Y/N forced a laugh, turned on her heel and walked to the bedroom. But as soon as she was out of his sight, her smile vanished. She rushed to her work bag, tearing it open with trembling hands.

Please be there. Please let the drive be there.

Her fingers brushed against cool metal in the side pocket. She pulled out the silver USB drive. She stared at it, tears pricking her eyes. She held the proof of the last few days in her hand, but in her mind, those days didn't exist.

********************

By Friday evening, the fog in Y/N’s head hadn't lifted. If anything, it had grown thicker, settling over her mind like a heavy, damp blanket.

They were sitting on the couch, the TV playing low in the background. San was scrolling through his phone, his legs thrown over hers, his earlier work stress melting away into the weekend.

"So..." Y/N started, looking up from the book she had been reading, or rather staring at the same page for twenty minutes without absorbing a word. "What’s the plan for tomorrow? Do we need to go grocery shopping?"

San didn't look up from his phone. "Babe, we talked about this at dinner. We’re going to my parents' house for the barbecue. Remember? Mom’s making those ribs you like."

"Oh." Y/N blinked, a flush of embarrassment creeping up her neck. "Right. The barbecue. Of course."

She forced herself to smile, though her stomach twisted. She didn't remember. She remembered his mom, she remembered the house, but the conversation they apparently had just thirty minutes ago over pasta? Gone.

She turned back to her book, forcing her eyes to scan the lines.

Focus. Just pay attention.

Ten minutes passed. The sitcom on the TV went to a commercial break.

Y/N closed her book and set it on the coffee table. She turned to San, feeling a sudden need to be useful, to plan ahead.

"Hey." she said softly. "I was thinking, since we're free tomorrow, maybe we should hit the grocery store early? Before it gets crowded?"

San went still.

He slowly lowered his phone, turning to look at her with a furrowed brow. The relaxed atmosphere instantly evaporated.

"Y/N..." he said, his voice clipped. "Are you messing with me?"

She recoiled slightly at his tone. "What? No. I just... I hate when the store is busy."

"We just talked about this." San said, sitting up and pulling his legs away from her. "Literally ten minutes ago. We are not going to the store. We are going to my parents' house."

Y/N stared at him, her mouth opening and closing. The horror crashed into her. She had asked the exact same question.

"I..." She swallowed hard, her throat dry. "I was just checking if you remembered."

San let out a harsh scoff, standing up and running a hand through his hair. "God, you’re exasperating lately. It’s like talking to a wall. Do you even listen to a word I say? Or is my family just that unimportant to you that you tune it out?"

"That's not it." Y/N stood up too, panic making her defensive. "I’m just tired, San... It’s been a long week."

"It’s been a long week for both of us." he shot back, walking toward the kitchen to get water. "But I still manage to remember what you said five minutes ago."

Y/N followed him into the kitchen, shoulders sagging, her expression soft and defeated, like a puppy that had just been scolded. She stopped just behind him as he downed the glass of water, staring into the sink as if hoping the cool liquid would wash away his frustration.

She stood there for a moment, listening to the hum of the refrigerator, terrified that if she reached out, he would pull away. But the silence stretched too long and the distance between them felt like miles.

She reached out, her fingers tentatively grazing the fabric of his shirt, before she finally committed, wrapping her arms around his waist from behind. She pressed her cheek against the warmth of his broad back, closing her eyes tight.

"I’m sorry, baby." she murmured, her voice muffled against his spine. "I didn't mean to make you feel ignored. I promise I care about your family. I just... I don't know what's wrong with me lately. I’m trying, I swear."

San held the empty glass for a beat longer, his knuckles white against the glass. He let out a long, heavy exhale, his chest deflating against her hold. The rigid tension in his frame slowly began to dissolve. He couldn't stay angry at her. Not when she sounded so small, so fragile.

Slowly, he set the glass in the sink and placed his hands over hers where they were clasped at his stomach. His thumbs brushed over her knuckles, a silent sign of peace.

He turned around within the circle of her arms, trapped between her body and the counter. He didn't speak immediately. Instead, he leaned back against the edge of the sink, spreading his legs slightly to pull her closer, forcing her to look up at him.

Her eyes were wide and full of remorse, her lip caught between her teeth in that nervous habit he usually found adorable, but now just made his chest ache.

"You're a handful, you know that?" he whispered, but the bite was gone from his voice. It was soft, resigned and deeply affectionate.

He freed one hand to reach up, his fingers brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. His hand lingered there, cupping her jaw, his thumb tracing the curve of her cheekbone.

"I know." Y/N whispered, leaning into his touch, seeking the grounding warmth of his skin. "Are you still mad?"

San studied her face, his eyes tracing every feature as if memorizing them. "I'm not mad. Just... tired. I worry about you, Y/N. It feels like you're not here when I try to talk to you, as if I'm just talking to myself."

"I'm right here." she said, her voice trembling slightly. She placed her hands on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. It was the only thing that felt real in her confusing world. "I'm right here with you. I love you. Forgive me, baby."

San’s resistance crumbled. It was impossible to hold onto his frustration when she looked at him like that, eyes wide, open and terrified of losing him.

He let out a ragged breath, a mixture of defeat and devotion and leaned down until his forehead rested against hers. He closed his eyes, just breathing her in, letting the scent of her shampoo and the warmth of her skin ground him.

"I could never not forgive you." he murmured, his voice low and rumbling against her skin. "Even when you drive me up the wall."

"I don't mean to." she whispered, her hands sliding up his chest to loop loosely around his neck.

"I know." San pulled back just an inch, enough to look her in the eyes. The annoyance was completely gone now, replaced by a heavy, hooded gaze that made Y/N’s breath hitch. "But if you’re really here... then show me. Stay with me. Don't drift away again."

He didn't wait for an answer. He tilted his head and brushed his lips against hers, feather-light, a question rather than a demand.

Y/N responded instantly, pressing into him, desperate to prove that she was present, that she was his. She parted her lips, inviting him in and San accepted the invitation with a groan that vibrated in his chest.

The kiss deepened, slow and languid at first, like wading into warm water. San’s large hands slid from her jaw down the column of her neck, his thumbs massaging the tension from her shoulders before travelling lower, settling firmly on her waist.

He pulled her flush against him, the contact searing through their clothes. The kiss grew wetter, more urgent. San tasted of coffee and forgiveness. He tasted like home.

Y/N’s fingers tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer, needing more friction, more heat.

San broke the kiss to trail hot, damp intent along her jawline. "You have no idea..." he rasped against the sensitive skin beneath her ear "How much I missed you this week."

"I missed you too." Y/N gasped, her head falling back to give him access.

"Prove it." San growled softly.

His hands tightened on her hips. With effortless strength, he lifted her off the floor. Y/N instinctively wrapped her legs around his waist as he gently lifted her to place her on the counter, setting her down on the edge.

He stepped between her knees immediately, eliminating every inch of space between them. His hands slid up her thighs, his touch possessive and grounding, anchoring her to the moment, to the sensation, to him.

He leaned in, his forehead resting against hers for a fleeting second, his breathing ragged. Then, he didn't ask. He took.

His mouth crashed onto hers, devouring the space between them with a hunger that bordered on desperation. It wasn't gentle. It was a reclaiming, a frantic need to sear his existence into her memory.

Y/N gasped, the sound swallowed by his kiss and arched her back as his hands squeezed her thighs, his thumbs digging into the soft flesh, leaving heat marks in their wake.

"San..." she moaned, her hands tangling in his hair, pulling him harder against her.

He growled against her lips, the vibration humming through her.

He didn't stop. His hands roamed up her sides, rough and impatient, finding the hem of her shirt. He broke the kiss only long enough to yank the fabric over her head, discarding it onto the kitchen floor without a second glance.

The cool air of the apartment hit her bare skin, but it was instantly replaced by the scorching heat of his mouth. He trailed wet, open-mouthed kisses down the column of her throat, pausing to suck a bruise onto the sensitive skin of her pulse point.

Y/N threw her head back, a shiver racking her body that had nothing to do with the cold. Her world, nowadays so foggy, narrowed down to this single, sharp point of pleasure.

"Touch me." she begged, her hands fumbling with the buttons of his shirt. "Please, San."

San made a low noise in his throat, half-groan, half-growl. He pulled back just enough to look at her, his eyes dilated and dark, stripping her down in a way that had nothing to do with clothes.

"I’m going to touch every inch of you." he promised, his voice a rough rasp. "Until you can’t remember anything else but this. But me."

He reached between them, his hand finding the button of her jeans. The sound of the zipper lowering was deafening in the quiet kitchen. He shoved the denim down her hips, his palms sliding over her skin, hot and calloused, sending electric shocks straight to her core.

He stepped closer, wedging himself deeper between her legs, the friction of his jeans against her bare skin making her gasp. He gripped her waist, his fingers splaying wide, holding her in place as he buried his face in the valley of her chest.

"San." she breathed, her legs hooking tightly around his waist, pulling him flush against her.

"Say it again." he commanded against her skin, his hands sliding around to cup her, lifting her slightly so she was pressed right against the hard ridge of his desire.

"San..." she cried out.

"That's it." he murmured, biting lightly at her collarbone, making her hips jerk instinctively. "Good girl."

San worshipped her body with a desperate intensity. And for the first time in weeks, Y/N didn't feel lost. She was anchored by his weight, defined by his hands and found in the fire he was igniting inside her.

********************

It was Tuesday afternoon. They were in the main conference room. This was a client pitch Y/N had been preparing for a month. She had the slides, the data and the script memorized. Or at least, she thought she did.

San sat across the table, looking sharp in his navy suit, offering her a subtle, encouraging nod as she stood at the head of the room. The projector hummed, displaying a complex graph of projected revenue.

"As you can see here in Q3..." Y/N began, her voice confident. She pointed the laser at the screen. "The growth was driven primarily by..."

She stopped.

She stared at the graph. The bars and numbers were right there, bright and colorful, but suddenly, they meant absolutely nothing. It was like looking at hieroglyphics. The words marketing strategy and consumer retention floated in the air, just out of reach.

The silence stretched. One second. Two. Five.

"Miss Y/N?" The client, a stern-faced man named Mr. Kim, leaned forward. "Driven by what?"

Y/N opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Panic clawed at her throat. She looked at San. His encouraging smile had vanished, replaced by a tight, confused frown. He made a subtle 'go on' motion with his hand.

Say something. Just read the slide.

But she couldn't even read it. The letters seemed to be swimming.

"I..." Y/N whispered, her hands shaking so badly she had to put the laser pointer down on the table with a clatter. "I'm sorry. I just... I can't recall the specific..."

The atmosphere in the room plummeted.

Before the client could speak, San stood up. His chair scraped loudly against the floor, drawing everyone’s attention. He walked over to Y/N, gently taking the clicker from her freezing hand.

"What my partner is trying to say..." San said, his voice smooth and charming, though Y/N could feel the heat radiating off him. "Is that the growth in Q3 was driven by our aggressive social media campaign, which resulted in a 15% uptick in user engagement. If we look at the next slide..."

He took over. He was brilliant, charismatic and saved the meeting seamlessly. Y/N stood off to the side, feeling like a ghost in her own life, shrinking smaller and smaller until she wished she could simply disappear.

The car ride home was suffocating.

San gripped the steering wheel so tight his knuckles were white. The radio was off. The silence was louder than any screaming match.

"San." Y/N tried, her voice small.

He ignored her, keeping his eyes on the road.

"I... I panicked." she lied, the familiar excuse tasting like ash in her mouth. "I got stage fright."

San let out a harsh, incredulous laugh. "Stage fright? Y/N, you’ve done that presentation a dozen times in the mirror. You built that graph yourself!"

He pulled the car into their driveway and slammed the brakes a little too hard. He turned to her and for the first time, there was no affection in his eyes. Only exhaustion.

"I covered for you today." he said, his voice low and cold. "But I can't keep doing this. You’re checking out. At home, at work... it’s like you’re not even trying anymore. You’re letting everything go."

"San..." tears pricked her eyes.

He got out of the car and slammed the door, walking into the house without waiting for her. Y/N sat in the passenger seat, watching his back retreat, realizing with a terrifying clarity that she was running out of chances.

********************

The morning sun filtered through the blinds, casting stripes of light across the duvet. Y/N woke with a start, her heart already racing with the residual anxiety of the previous night. She turned her head to look at San.

He was fast asleep, face buried in the pillow, one arm thrown carelessly over his eyes. He looked younger when he slept, the deep furrow of frustration between his brows smoothed out.

I have to fix this. I have to show him I’m still here.

She tiptoed into the kitchen, determined to execute this perfectly. No slip-ups. No fog.

She pulled out the pan, the eggs, the bacon and the mix for his favorite blueberry pancakes. She moved with a hyper-focused intensity, narrating her actions in her head to keep her mind from drifting.

Turn on the stove. Medium heat. Crack the eggs. Don't forget the vanilla extract.

For a terrifying second, she stood holding the spatula, staring at the batter, forgetting if she had already added the blueberries. She froze, panic rising in her throat. She poked the batter with her finger.

Blue. Okay. Good. You did it. Keep going.

Half an hour later, the kitchen smelled like heaven. Crispy bacon, rich coffee and sweet maple syrup.

"Something smells delicious."

Y/N jumped, spinning around. San was standing in the doorway, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He was wearing grey sweatpants and nothing else, his hair a messy halo. He wasn't smiling yet, but he wasn't scowling either. He just looked... tired.

"I made breakfast." Y/N said, gesturing to the spread on the table. She twisted her hands nervously in her apron. "Blueberry pancakes. Your favorite. And the bacon is extra crispy, just how you like it."

San walked over to the table, looking at the food, then at her. The tension from the car ride lingered in the air, but the sight of her, disheveled, flour on her cheek, looking at him with such desperate hope, softened the hard line of his mouth.

"You got up early." he stated, his voice raspy with sleep.

"I wanted to say sorry." Y/N whispered, taking a step toward him. "For yesterday. For everything lately. I know I’ve been... difficult. But I wanted to do something nice for you. To show you I'm trying."

San sighed, the sound deep and resigned. He walked over to her, reaching out to wipe the smudge of flour from her cheek with his thumb.

"You didn't have to do all this." he said quietly.

"I wanted to." She covered his hand with hers, pressing it against her face. "I love you, San. Please don't give up on me."

San looked into her eyes, searching for the fog, but this morning, he saw only clarity and affection. He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her into a hug that lifted her slightly off her toes. He buried his face in her neck, inhaling the scent of syrup and sleep.

"I'm not giving up on you, Y/N." he mumbled against her skin. "I'm just worried. But..." He pulled back, a small, genuine smile finally breaking through. "I can't say no to blueberry pancakes."

They sat down to eat, the silence between them comfortable for the first time in days.

"This is perfect." San said around a mouthful, pointing his fork at her. "See? You remember the important stuff. You even remembered the extra butter."

Y/N smiled, taking a sip of her coffee to hide the sudden tremble in her lip. "Yeah." she lied softly. "I remember the important stuff."

San reached across the table, lacing his fingers through hers. "Let's just relax this weekend, okay? No work talk. No stress. Just us."

"Just us." Y/N agreed.

For a moment, sitting in the sun-drenched kitchen, everything felt normal. It felt like they had survived the storm. But as Y/N looked at the calendar on the fridge, a knot of dread tightened in her stomach. She stared at the date, feeling like she should know something about next week.

Something big.

But the box in her mind remained empty.

********************

The workday had been torture for San.

For eight hours, he had waited. Every time Y/N walked past his desk, every time they crossed paths in the breakroom, he expected a wink, a whispered "Happy Birthday" or a note slipped under his keyboard.

He got nothing.

She had been distant all day, burying her nose in her work, avoiding eye contact.

When 5:00 PM hit, she had packed up abruptly and muttered that she had a headache and was leaving early.

San had driven home with a knot of anticipation in his stomach.

She's acting. She left early to set up the surprise. She ignored me at work to throw me off.

He unlocked the front door at 6:30 PM, a bottle of wine in his hand, just in case and a smile ready on his lips.

"Okay, okay, I'm here." he called out, closing the door behind him. "You can stop acting now."

Silence.

The apartment was dark. There was no smell of dinner cooking. No streamers. No surprise.

San frowned, the smile slipping. He walked into the living room. Y/N was sitting on the couch, illuminated only by the blue light of her laptop. She was wearing her pajamas, hair in a messy bun, typing furiously.

She didn't look up.

"Hey, babe." she mumbled, eyes glued to the screen. "You're back."

San stood in the middle of the room, still holding his work bag and the wine. The air felt stale. Normal. Wrong.

"I'm back." San said slowly. "I thought... since you left work early..."

"Oh, yeah." She rubbed her temples, finally glancing at him. Her eyes were dull, exhausted. "My head was killing me. I just needed to lie down for a bit before finishing this report. Did you finish the Parker file?"

San felt a cold chill settle in his chest.

The Parker file?

He walked over to the coffee table and set the wine bottle down with a loud thud.

Y/N flinched. "San? What’s wrong?"

"You didn't say a word to me all day." San said, his voice quiet, trembling with suppressed emotion. "Not at the morning meeting. Not at lunch. You walked right past my desk three times, Y/N. You looked right through me."

Y/N blinked, confused. "I... I was busy. You know how stressed I am with this project. I didn't mean to be rude."

"Rude?" San let out a sharp, disbelief-filled laugh. "You think I'm mad because you were rude?"

"I don't know why you're mad!" she cried out, shrinking back into the cushions. "I came home because I wasn't feeling well. Why are you yelling at me?"

San stared at her. He really looked at her. He was searching for a trace of a joke, a spark of recognition. But he saw only genuine confusion and defensiveness.

"What is today's date, Y/N?"

Y/N froze. The question hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. She looked at him, then darted her eyes to the corner of her laptop screen.

July 10th.

She stared at the numbers.

July 10th...

The realization hit her like a physical blow to the gut. The silence at work. The expectant look on his face when he walked in. The wine.

It was San's birthday.

The blood drained from her face. She scrambled up from the couch, the laptop sliding to the floor with a crash.

"Oh my god..." she whispered, her hands flying to her mouth. "San. San, I..."

"Don't." he cut her off. He stepped back, as if her proximity burned him. "Don't you dare."

"I... I can't believe I... San, I swear I knew. I knew it was coming. I just... my brain, it’s been so foggy. I saw you at work and I knew I had to tell you something, but I couldn't reach it."

"You couldn't reach it?" San’s voice cracked. "I sat five feet away from you for eight hours, Y/N! I waited all day! I thought, 'She's planning something special.' I thought, 'She loves me, she wouldn't forget this.'"

He wiped a hand aggressively across his eyes.

"You didn't just forget a date." he said, his voice dropping to a whisper that hurt more than screaming. "You forgot me. You looked at me today like I was a stranger."

"No..." Y/N shook her head, reaching for him. "You are the most important person in the world to me. Please, San! Something is wrong with me, I don't know why I'm like this..."

"You're like this because you stopped caring." San said, his tone turning cold and final. "You stopped trying weeks ago. It started with the lost keys, forgetting where you placed stuff, the important meetings, ignoring my family... I made excuses for all of it. But this? Coming home to you working on a spreadsheet while I stand here like an idiot with my own birthday wine?"

He turned around and walked toward the bedroom.

"San, please..." Y/N chased after him, grabbing his arm. "Don't walk away. I can fix this. Let me make you dinner. Let's go out. Please."

He yanked his arm away, grabbing a duffel bag from the closet. He started throwing clothes into it blindly.

"You can't fix this." he said, zipping the bag with a vicious rip. "I can't be in a relationship where I feel this alone. I’m done, Y/N."

"No..." Y/N lunged forward, placing her body between him and the bedroom door, her hands pressing against his chest to hold him back. "You can't just leave. San please, I’m trying! I promise I’ll do better. I’ll set alarms. I’ll write everything down. Just tell me what to do..."

San looked down at her. His expression wasn't just angry anymore. It was filled with a cold, disgusted exhaustion that terrified her more than his shouting.

"That's the problem, Y/N." he spat, shoving her hands off his chest. "I am sick of telling you what to do. I am sick of reminding you to eat. I am sick of checking your work. I didn't sign up to be your babysitter."

Y/N froze, her breath hitching in her throat. "Babysitter?"

"What else would you call it?" San stepped into her space, his voice dropping to a harsh, cruel whisper. "You stumble around this house like a child. You lose things. You forget conversations we had five minutes ago. You're not a partner anymore, Y/N. You're a burden."

The word hung in the air like a slap.

Burden.

"I..." tears spilled over her cheeks, hot and fast. "I'm not... I don't mean to be..."

"It doesn't matter if you mean it or not." San cut her off, hoisting the bag onto his shoulder. "The result is the same. You're dragging me down. I used to look at you and see someone brilliant. Someone sharp. Now?" He looked her up and down, his eyes void of any warmth. "Now I just see someone who’s pathetic."

Y/N gasped, a broken sound escaping her lips. She stepped back, trembling so hard she had to grab the doorframe for support.

"Y-you don't love me..." she whispered, the realization shattering her heart.

"I loved the woman you used to be." San corrected, his voice flat. "But that woman? She’s been gone for months. And frankly? I’m tired of waiting for her to come back."

He pushed past her, his shoulder checking hers hard enough to make her stumble. He walked down the hallway, his footsteps heavy and final.

"San!" Y/N screamed, finding her voice, chasing him to the entryway. "Please... Don't go like this. It's your birthday!"

San paused with his hand on the doorknob. He turned his head slightly, not enough to look at her, but enough for her to hear his final parting shot.

"Yeah..." he scoffed bitterly. "Thanks for the gift."

The door slammed shut.

The sound echoed through the apartment like a gunshot. Y/N stood in the silence, the words pathetic and burden carving themselves into her mind, drowning out everything else, even the memory of why he was leaving in the first place.

She didn't move from the hallway floor for hours. She eventually fell asleep there, curled in a ball on the cold hardwood, exhaustion and grief pulling her under.

********************

When she woke up the next morning, the sun was blinding. For a split second, just a merciful heartbeat, she forgot. She reached out her hand, expecting to feel the warmth of San’s back. She expected to smell coffee.

Her hand hit the empty floor.

The memory of the night before didn't return in a smooth flow. It crashed into her like a tidal wave.

The bag.

The door slamming.

"Pathetic."

"Burden."

She gasped, sitting up, clutching her chest as the fresh wave of pain hit. He was gone. San was actually gone.

********************

The next week at work was a public execution.

Since they worked on the same floor, avoiding him was impossible. But San made it clear that he had built a fortress around himself.

On Monday, Y/N tried the small things. She arrived early, despite her head feeling like it was stuffed with wool and placed a cup of his favorite iced Americano on his desk.

She added a sticky note, her handwriting shaky: I’m sorry. Please let me explain.

She watched from her cubicle as San arrived. He looked tired, dark circles under his eyes, but his expression was made of stone. He saw the coffee. He read the note.

Without a flicker of emotion, he picked up the cup and the note, walked over to the trash bin by the printer and dropped them both in. The thud echoed in the silent office. He didn't even look in her direction.

Y/N felt like she was bleeding out in her chair.

On Wednesday, she cornered him in the breakroom.

"San..." she pleaded, blocking the doorway. She looked frail, her clothes hanging a little looser on her frame than they had a week ago. "Please. Just five minutes. I don't want to fight. I just want to understand what's happening to me."

San poured his water, his back to her.

"There’s nothing to understand, Y/N. You stopped caring. I left. It’s simple math."

"I didn't stop caring!" Her voice rose, desperate and shrill. "I feel like I'm losing my mind! I walk into rooms and don't know why. I forget your name sometimes for a split second! San, I’m scared!"

San finally turned around. But instead of concern, his eyes were filled with cold skepticism.

"God, you’re still doing it." he shook his head, looking disgusted. "The victim act. You’re not 'losing your mind,' Y/N. You’re just looking for an excuse so you don't have to take responsibility for being a terrible partner. It’s manipulative. And frankly? It’s pathetic."

He brushed past her, his shoulder brushing harshly against hers. "Stay away from me. I'm trying to work."

Friday was the breaking point.

Y/N caught him at the elevator. She had spent the night writing a list. A list of every memory she still had of him, trying to prove she was still in there.

"San, look." she cried, shoving the crumpled paper toward him as the elevator doors opened. "I wrote it down! Our first date was at the pier. You hate olives. Your mother's name is Eun-ji. I know this! I know you!"

San pressed the 'Close Door' button repeatedly, staring straight ahead.

"Please look at it!" she begged, tears streaming down her face. "I'm trying! I'm trying so hard not to be a burden!"

San’s hand froze over the button. The word burden hung in the air. He looked at her then and for a second, he almost saw her. The pale skin, the trembling hands, the terror in her eyes.

But his anger was a shield he couldn't put down.

"It’s too late, Y/N." he said, his voice void of all feeling. "I don't want your lists. I don't want your apologies. I just want you to leave me alone."

The doors slid shut, cutting off the sight of her crumbling face.

********************

After that day, the silence changed.

Y/N stopped trying.

She stopped leaving notes. She stopped intercepting him at the elevator. She stopped looking at him.

She became a ghost in the office. She arrived late, moved silently to her desk and sat there for eight hours. She stared at her screen, but San noticed she rarely typed.

She would go to the breakroom, stand in front of the coffee machine for five minutes and then walk away without making a drink, as if she had forgotten what she went in there for.

San told himself he was relieved.

Finally. She got the message.

But as the weeks of silence dragged on, the relief began to curdle into something else.

He started watching her.

He would glance over the top of his monitor. She was losing weight. Her blouses, usually crisp and fitted, hung off her shoulders. Her hair, which she used to style meticulously, was often pulled back in a messy, loose knot, strands falling into her face that she didn't bother to tuck away.

One afternoon, he watched her staring at her stapler. She looked at it with intense, furrowed concentration, turning it over in her hands like it was an alien artifact. She held it for ten minutes.

What is she doing? Is she on drugs? Is she having a breakdown?

He watched her colleagues walk past her. They were starting to whisper. He saw their coworker, Mina, stop at Y/N’s desk and ask her a question. Y/N just stared at Mina, blinking slowly, before giving a vague, disjointed answer that made Mina frown and walk away looking concerned.

San gripped his mouse tighter. He wanted to go over there. He wanted to shake her and ask her what the hell was wrong with her. But his pride anchored him to his chair.

She's not my problem anymore. She's an adult. She's just acting out for attention.

********************

It was Tuesday.

9:00 AM came and went. Then 9:30. Then 10:00.

San sat at his desk, his eyes burning from staring at his screen, but his peripheral vision was entirely focused on the empty chair in the next row.

She’s playing hooky. She’s calling out sick to make me worry. She wants me to text her and ask where she is. Well, I’m not falling for it.

He aggressively typed an email he didn't need to send, forcing himself not to look at her dark monitor.

Wednesday came. The chair remained empty.

So did it on Thursday, Friday, the week after.

One day, by the afternoon, the office was quiet. Too quiet. Usually, if someone was out sick for so many days, there was an email. A notification. Something. But there was nothing. Y/N had simply vanished.

San felt a prickle of irritation growing into a low-grade anxiety.

Is she quitting? Is she ghosting the job like she ghosted our relationship? God, she's so irresponsible.

The next Friday morning.

San walked in, his eyes darting immediately to her desk. Still empty. A layer of dust seemed to be settling on her stapler, the same one she had stared at for ten minutes last time she attended work.

He couldn't take it anymore. He stood up, grabbing his coffee mug as a prop and walked over to the bank of desks where Mina sat.

Mina looked frazzled. She was on the phone, whispering urgently, but she hung up as soon as San approached.

"Where is she?" San asked, keeping his voice casual, though his grip on the mug was white-knuckled. "Y/N. She hasn't been in here for two weeks. Did she finally quit?"

Mina looked up at him. Her expression wasn't gossipy or annoyed. She looked terrified.

"She didn't quit, San." Mina said quietly. "She just... didn't show up. I called her cell yesterday, but she didn't answer. I called her landline this morning."

"And?" San pressed, his heart doing a strange, painful flip.

"She answered." Mina said, her voice trembling slightly. "But... it was weird. I asked her why she wasn't at work and she asked me..." Mina swallowed hard. "She asked me what work I was talking about."

San froze. "What?"

"She didn't know it was a weekday." Mina whispered, glancing around to make sure no one else was listening. "She sounded calm. Happy, even. She said she was just watching the birds outside. San... she’s worked here for three years. How does she forget she has a job?"

San felt the blood drain from his face. A cold, leaden weight dropped into his stomach.

She asked what work I was talking about.

"She's playing games." San said, though the words sounded hollow even to his own ears. "She's doing this to get a reaction."

"I don't think so." Mina said, standing up and grabbing her purse. "I'm going over there on my lunch break. I don't care what the boss says. Something is wrong."

San stood there, frozen. His pride screamed at him to sit back down, to let Mina handle it, to not get sucked back into Y/N's drama.

She's an adult. She's not your problem.

"Fine." San said stiffly. "Do what you want."

He walked back to his desk and sat down. He stared at his screen. But the numbers blurred. All he could hear was Mina's voice.

She asked what work I was talking about.

He waited.

One hour passed. Then two.

At 1:30 PM, his phone buzzed. It was a text from Mina.

'I'm at her apartment. You need to come. Now.'

San didn't reply. He didn't lock his computer. He didn't even grab his jacket. He sprinted to the elevator, jamming the button until the doors slid open.

The drive to the apartment was a blur of honking horns and run red lights. His heart was hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs, a sickening mixture of adrenaline and dread.

What happened? Did she hurt herself? Did she try to hurt Mina?

When he turned onto their street, his blood ran cold.

There were two police cruisers parked haphazardly in front of the building, their blue and red lights strobing silently in the afternoon sun, washing over the brick facade. A small crowd of neighbors had gathered on the sidewalk, whispering and pointing.

San slammed the car into park and bolted out, not bothering to close the door. He pushed through the onlookers, his breath tearing at his throat.

"Excuse me! Let me through!"

He reached the front entrance just as a police officer was stepping out, hand on his belt. Behind him, San saw Mina. She was sitting on the front steps, her face buried in her hands, her shoulders shaking.

"Mina!" San gasped, rushing to her. "What happened? Is she hurt?"

Mina looked up. Her mascara was smeared and she looked traumatized.

"San..." she choked out, standing up on wobbling legs. "She... she called the cops on me."

San blinked, his brain unable to compute the sentence. "What?

"I knocked..." Mina explained, her voice rising in hysteria. "I knocked and I called her name. I used the spare key you gave me ages ago because I was worried she’d fainted. And when I opened the door... she screamed. She started throwing things at me. She didn't know who I was, San. She thought I was breaking in."

"She knows you." San said, shaking his head in denial. "You've sat next to her for three years."

"She didn't know me!" Mina cried. "She locked herself in the bathroom and dialed 911 screaming that there was an intruder!"

"Sir, step back." a deep voice commanded.

San looked up. Two police officers were escorting Y/N out of the building.

She wasn't in handcuffs, but she looked small. Fragile. She was wearing her oversized pajamas and clutching a throw blanket tightly around her shoulders. Her eyes were darting around frantically, scanning the crowd, the cars, the lights.

She looked terrified.

San felt a wave of protective instinct crash over him, washing away his anger and his pride.

She's scared. She's confused and she's scared and she needs me.

"It's okay." San said to Mina, straightening up. "I've got this. She's just having an episode. She'll recognize me."

He walked past the police tape, ignoring the officer who tried to intercept him.

"Y/N!" he called out, his voice steady and commanding.

Y/N’s head snapped toward him.

San slowed his pace, offering her the soft, familiar smile that he used to give her when she had a nightmare. He approached her slowly, hands raised to show he wasn't a threat.

"It's okay, baby." he said gently, stepping into the circle of light. "I'm here. Tell them it was a mistake. Tell them it's just Mina."

He reached out to take her hand.

Y/N didn't scream. She didn't shriek.

She simply took a sharp step back, hiding behind the shoulder of the police officer.

She looked at San, right into his eyes, with a blank, chilling emptiness. There was no spark. No relief. No anger.

It was the way you look at a stranger on the subway.

"Officer?" Y/N’s voice was small and trembling. She tugged on the policeman's sleeve, pointing a shaking finger at San. "Is... is he with the intruder?"

San froze. His hand hovered in mid-air, inches from her arm. The smile died on his lips.

"Y/N... " he choked out, a nervous laugh bubbling up. "Stop it. It's San. It's me."

Y/N frowned, leaning further away from him, her brow furrowed in genuine confusion. "Who?"

"San..." he pleaded, stepping closer, desperation leaking into his voice. "Your boyf-ex boyfriend. We lived together for two years. I just... I just left last month. Y/N, look at me!"

He tried to grab her shoulder, needing to make contact, needing to ground her.

"Sir back away!" The officer shoved San back hard, his hand hovering over his taser.

"I don't know him." Y/N cried out, her voice cracking with fear. She looked up at the officer, her eyes wide and pleading. "I've never seen him before. Please, just don't let him near me."

San stumbled back, catching his balance on the hood of the police car. The air left his lungs.

She wasn't lying. He could see it in her face. The utter lack of recognition. To her, he wasn't San, the love of her life. He wasn't even an ex-boyfriend.

He was just a man. A stranger shouting at her on the street.

"She doesn't know me..." San whispered, the words tasting like ash.

Mina appeared at his elbow, her voice trembling. "I told you, San. It’s like she’s been wiped clean."

San watched as the EMTs approached Y/N, speaking to her in soft, soothing tones. They guided her toward the ambulance, treating her like a confused child.

Before she climbed in, Y/N glanced back one last time. Her eyes swept over San without pausing, without a flicker of memory, before she turned away and disappeared inside the vehicle.

San stood alone on the pavement, the flashing lights painting him in red and blue, realizing with a sickening jolt that while he had been waiting for her to apologize, she had been slowly forgetting he existed at all.

********************

The hospital waiting room was a purgatory of white walls and the smell of antiseptic.

San had been pacing the linoleum floor for two hours. Every time the automatic doors opened, his head snapped up, but it was never for him.

Mina sat in one of the plastic chairs, clutching her purse, her eyes red and swollen, watching him pace.

"San, sit down." she whispered. "You're going to pass out."

"I can't sit." San snapped, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "Why is it taking so long? Why won't they tell me anything?"

He stopped at the window, staring at his reflection in the dark glass. He looked like a wreck. But beneath the anxiety, a desperate hope was blooming.

It was just a panic attack. It was a psychotic break caused by the heat or dehydration. Once they hydrate her, once she calms down, she’ll remember. She has to.

"Family of Y/N?"

San spun around. A doctor in a white coat, looking grave and exhausted, stood by the double doors holding a clipboard.

"I'm her... partner." San said immediately, the lie or the half-truth slipping out before he could think. "We lived together. Is she okay?"

The doctor gestured for him to come closer, away from the other people in the waiting room. San walked over, his legs feeling like lead.

"I'm Dr. Aris." the man said softly. "Y/N is stable now. We’ve administered a mild sedative to help with the anxiety."

"Stable." San repeated, breathing out. "Okay. That's good. So it was just... stress? A breakdown?"

Dr. Aris didn't smile. He looked down at his clipboard, then back at San with a heavy, sympathetic gaze.

"It wasn't just stress, no. We ran a CT scan and an MRI. Given her age, it’s rare, but the imaging is conclusive." He paused, letting the silence hang. "Y/N is suffering from aggressive Early-Onset Alzheimer's, compounded by acute dissociative amnesia."

The world seemed to go silent. The humming of the vending machine, the squeak of nurses' shoes, it all vanished.

"Alzheimer's?" San whispered, the word feeling foreign and impossible. "She's 26. She... she just forgets her keys sometimes. She's just clumsy."

"The 'clumsiness' was likely the loss of motor skills and spatial awareness." Dr. Aris corrected gently. "The forgetting of names, the confusion with dates, the mood swings... those were all early symptoms. Based on the degradation we see in the scans, she has likely been struggling with this for months, perhaps masking it to appear normal."

San felt like he was going to vomit.

Masking it.

He thought of her list. The list he had mocked. The list he had treated as garbage. She hadn't been doing "homework" to appease him. She had been desperately trying to hold onto her reality.

"But..." San’s voice shook. "Why now? Why did she forget me? Just two weeks ago she knew who I was. How does it happen that fast?"

The doctor sighed, shifting his weight. "That brings me to the dissociative aspect. Usually, this disease is a slow decline. However, extreme emotional trauma or high levels of cortisol and stress can act as catalysts. They trigger a rapid acceleration of symptoms."

San stopped breathing.

"Trauma?" he choked out.

"Has she experienced a significant emotional shock recently?" Dr. Aris asked, his pen hovering over the paper. "A death in the family? A sudden loss of stability? Anything that would cause her to feel unsafe or abandoned?"

San stared at the doctor.

The memories flashed before his eyes like a horror reel.

The door slamming.

Him screaming at her.

"You're a burden."

"You're pathetic."

Him walking away while she begged him not to leave her alone.

"Yes... " San whispered, his voice sounding destroyed. "Yes. She... she went through a breakup. Last month."

The doctor nodded slowly, making a note. "That explains it. The brain, when already compromised by the disease, cannot handle that level of emotional distress. To protect itself from the pain, it shuts down. It fractures. The breakup didn't just cause a panic attack, sir. It essentially pushed her off the cliff she was already standing on."

San leaned against the wall, his knees buckling.

He had done this.

She was sick. She was losing her mind, terrified and confused and instead of helping her, he had screamed at her. He had called her a burden. And that cruelty had been the final shove that broke her mind completely.

"Can I see her?" San asked, his voice raw. "Please. I need to see her."

"You can." Dr. Aris said, closing the file. "But I need to warn you. The sedative has calmed her, but the amnesia is profound. Do not force her to remember. It will only cause more distress."

"I understand." San said.

He followed the doctor down the long, sterile hallway.

Room 304.

The door was open.

San stopped at the threshold. His heart was pounding so hard it hurt his chest.

Y/N was sitting up in the hospital bed. She looked tiny against the white pillows. An IV line ran into her arm. She was looking out the window at the darkness, tracing the condensation on the glass with one finger.

She looked peaceful. The terror from the street was gone, replaced by a vacant, soft emptiness.

San took a shaky breath and stepped inside.

"Hey." he whispered.

Y/N turned her head.

San waited. He prayed. He begged whatever god was listening to give him one spark, one glimmer of recognition. He wanted her to yell at him. He wanted her to cry. He wanted her to know him.

Y/N looked at him. Her eyes swept over his face, his eyes, his nose, the mouth she had kissed a thousand times.

She blinked.

Then, she offered him a small, polite, tentative smile. The kind of smile you give to a nurse or a doctor you haven't met yet.

"Hello." she said softly. Her voice was light. Unburdened. "Are you the doctor?"

San felt his heart shatter into a million jagged pieces.

She wasn't scared of him anymore. She wasn't angry. It was worse.

He was nobody.

"No." San managed to choke out, tears instantly blurring his vision as he gripped the foot of the bed to stay upright. "No, I'm... I'm just a visitor."

Y/N nodded, accepting this instantly. She turned back to the window. "Oh. That's nice of you. Do you know where I am? The other man said I was safe, but I don't remember coming here."

San watched her, the woman he had once planned to marry, the woman whose heart he had broken because he thought she didn't care, realizing with a crushing finality that she was gone. He was the stranger in the room.

"You're safe." San whispered, the guilt crushing the air from his lungs. "You're safe now."

********************

The hospital became San’s second home. Or perhaps, his purgatory.

Every day after work, he went to Room 304. He stopped wearing his suits, trading them for soft sweaters and jeans, clothes that made him look less intimidating.

He became a fixture in the ward. The nurses stopped asking for his ID. They just gave him sad, pitying smiles as he walked past the station, carrying fresh flowers, or a book, or a cup of warm tea.

Day 3

San walked in with a bouquet of yellow tulips, her favorite.

Y/N was sitting in the chair by the window, watching the parking lot below. She turned when he entered, her face lighting up with a polite, welcoming curiosity.

"Oh, hello." she chirped. "You’re back."

"I'm back." San said, his heart squeezing at the fact that she remembered his presence, but not his identity. He held out the flowers. "These are for you."

"For me?" She gasped, taking them with genuine delight. She buried her nose in the petals. "They're beautiful! How did you know I like yellow?"

"It was a lucky guess." San lied, his voice thick.

She looked up at him, her eyes bright and clear. "You are very kind. What was your name again? I’m sorry, my head is a little... fuzzy."

"It's San." he said gently, sitting in the plastic visitor's chair.

"San..." she tested the word on her tongue, smiling. "That’s a nice name. I’m Y/N."

"I know..." he whispered,voice cracking. "It's nice to meet you, Y/N."

Day 7

He brought blueberry pancakes. He had made them himself that morning, packed them in tupperware and reheated them in the hospital breakroom.

Y/N ate them with the enthusiasm of a child.

"These are amazing." she mumbled around a mouthful. "It tastes like..." She paused, her fork hovering in mid-air. A frown creased her forehead.

San leaned forward, his hands gripping his knees.

Remember. Remember the morning I told you I couldn't say no to these.

"It tastes like... Sunday." she finished softly. She looked at him. "Did you make these?"

"I did." San said.

"You must be a very good cook." she beamed. "Does your girlfriend like them?"

The question hit him like a physical blow. San stared at her innocent face. She wasn't being cruel. She genuinely thought he was just a nice stranger who visited her.

"I don't have a girlfriend anymore." San said, his voice raspy.

"Oh." Y/N’s face fell. She reached out and patted his hand,a gesture of comfort from the person he had destroyed. "I'm sorry. She must have been silly to let someone who cooks this good go."

San looked down at her hand covering his. "No..." he whispered. "I was the silly one. I let her go."

Day 14

It was raining. San sat by her bedside, reading aloud from a poetry book she used to keep on her nightstand. He was reading a poem about memory, about holding onto things.

He looked up to check if she was asleep.

Y/N was watching him intently.

"Why do you come here?" she asked suddenly.

San closed the book. "What do you mean?"

"You come every day." she said, tilting her head. "The nurses say you stay for hours. You bring me food. You read to me. But..."

She hesitated, looking confused. "I don't know who you are. And you look so sad every time you look at me."

San swallowed the lump in his throat. He wanted to scream. He wanted to shake her and say : I'm San! I'm the man you loved for two years! I'm the man who promised to protect you and then threw you away!

But Dr. Aris’s warning echoed in his head.

Do not force her. It will cause distress.

"I come because I'm... lonely." San said, the lie tasting like ash. "And you seem lonely too."

"I'm not lonely." Y/N said simply, turning back to the window. "I have the birds. And now I have you. You're my friend, right?"

"Yeah..." San choked out, tears finally spilling over and tracking down his nose. "I'm your friend."

Day 21

San arrived later than usual. He had gotten caught up in a meeting, the kind Y/N used to help him prepare for.

When he rushed into the room, breathless, Y/N was already asleep.

He slowed down, walking quietly to the side of the bed. She looked so peaceful. The lines of stress that had defined her face during those last weeks of their relationship were gone. She looked younger. Lighter.

It was the cruelest irony: forgetting him had brought her peace.

He sat in the chair, watching the rise and fall of her chest. He noticed a piece of paper on the nightstand. It was a drawing.

It was crude, done with crayons the nurses gave her for therapy.

It showed a stick figure of a girl in a bed. And next to it, a tall stick figure of a man holding a flower.

Underneath the tall figure, in shaky, childish handwriting, she had written: The Nice Man.

San picked up the paper, his hands trembling.

She didn't write San. She didn't write My Love.

She wrote The Nice Man.

He pressed the paper to his chest and bowed his head, sobbing silently into the sterile quiet of the room. He realized then that this was his punishment. He would spend the rest of his life trying to be the man she thought he was, the "Nice Man", while carrying the crushing weight of knowing he had been the villain who put her in that bed.

He would visit her every day. He would tell her his name every afternoon. And every morning, she would wake up and forget him all over again.

And he deserved it.

********************

The discharge paperwork was a mountain of forms, but San signed them all without reading the fine print.

"She needs 24 hour supervision." Dr. Aris warned him, his hand resting on the stack of papers. "She cannot cook alone. She cannot leave the house alone. She will get confused, San. She might get aggressive. It’s a full-time job."

"I know." San said, his pen scratching the final signature.

"You don't have to do this." the doctor added gently. "There are facilities. There are nurses."

"I know..." San repeated, looking through the glass window at Y/N, who was folding her clothes with meticulous, confused slowness. "But I walked away once. I’m not doing it again."

The drive back to the apartment was quiet. Y/N sat in the passenger seat, staring out the window with wide, fascinated eyes, pointing out trees and dogs like a tourist in a new city.

When San pulled into the driveway, his hands tightened on the wheel until his knuckles cracked.

"Is this where you live?" Y/N asked, looking up at the building.

"It’s where we live." San corrected softly, then caught himself. "I mean, it’s... it’s where you’re going to stay. With me."

He led her upstairs. He unlocked the door.

The apartment was exactly as he had left it the night of the breakup. The wine stain was still on the coffee table. The shattered pieces of her laptop had been swept up, but the ghost of the argument hung heavy in the air.

Y/N walked in. She looked at the couch, the TV, the paintings on the wall.

San held his breath, waiting for a flicker.

This is your home. You picked those curtains. You bought that rug.

Y/N turned to him and smiled politely. "You have a lovely home, San. It’s very... cozy."

San felt a piece of his soul wither and die.

"Thank you." he whispered. "Let me show you your room."

He led her to the master bedroom, their bedroom. He didn't bring in his clothes, setting up a makeshift bed for himself on the living room couch.

He couldn't sleep next to her. Not when she looked at him with such innocent, platonic trust.

"This is nice." she said, sitting on the edge of the bed. She bounced a little. "Are you sure I can stay here? I don't want to be a bother."

The word echoed in his head.

Burden. Bother.

"You are never a bother." San said fiercely, his voice cracking. "You are never, ever a burden, Y/N! You hear me?"

She looked surprised by his intensity, but she nodded. "Okay. Thank you, San."

Life fell into a new, heart-shattering routine.

San became her shadow. He woke up before her to make breakfast. He wrote notes on the fridge, gentle prompts.

Coffee is here.

It is Tuesday.

San is in the other room.

He went to work remotely, setting up his laptop on the kitchen island so he could watch her while she painted in the living room or watched TV.

It broke him in a thousand small ways every single day.

It broke him when she would ask "San, where is the bathroom again?" in the home she had lived in for over two years.

It broke him when she found a framed photo of them on the bookshelf. It was from a beach trip. They were sun-kissed, laughing, his arms wrapped tight around her.

"Who are they?" Y/N asked one afternoon, dusting the frame.

San looked up from his computer. He stared at the photo of the happy couple.

"That's you." he said.

"Me?" She peered closer, touching the glass. "I look happy. And who is the man?"

She looked from the photo to San and back again. She didn't make the connection. The stress and grief on San's face had aged him. He looked nothing like the carefree boy in the picture anymore.

"That was... someone who loved you very much." San said, his voice barely audible.

"Where is he now?" she asked innocently.

"He made a mistake." San whispered, typing a sentence he would have to delete later. "And he lost you."

"Oh..." Y/N said sadly. She put the photo back. "That’s a shame. He looks like he was nice."

Months passed.

Y/N was happy. That was the only thing that kept San going. She was safe. She was fed. She laughed at his jokes. She trusted him implicitly as her roommate, her caretaker, her best friend.

But she never remembered.

One evening, San was helping her get ready for bed. Her motor skills were declining faster now. She struggled with buttons.

"Here." San murmured, stepping close to her.

His hands, hands that used to undress her with passion, now moved with clinical, gentle reverence. He buttoned her pajama top, his knuckles brushing the soft skin of her throat.

For a second, the muscle memory took over. He lingered. He looked into her eyes, and the sheer weight of his love for her crashed into him. He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to pull her close and beg her to come back to him.

Y/N looked up at him, her eyes wide and trusting.

"You take such good care of me, San," she whispered.

San froze. He pulled his hands away, stepping back as if burned.

"I have to." he choked out.

"Why?" she asked, tilting her head. "I'm sick. I forget things. I’m not... useful. Why do you stay?"

San looked at the woman he had called a burden. He looked at the woman who was now completely dependent on him, innocent and broken because of the crack he had put in her heart.

He realized then that this was his penance. He didn't get to have her love. He only got to have her presence. And that had to be enough.

He reached out and smoothed a stray hair from her forehead.

"Because..." San said, a tear finally escaping and tracking down his cheek. "I promised someone a long time ago that I would remember the important stuff for her. And I intend to keep that promise."

Y/N smiled, wiping the tear away with her thumb, unaware that she was the reason it was there.

"You're a good man, San." she said softly.

San closed his eyes, leaning into her touch, letting the lie shatter him one last time.

"Goodnight, Y/N.

"Goodnight, San."

He turned off the light, leaving her to her peaceful dreams and walked out to the couch to stare at the ceiling, remembering enough for the both of them.

You're a good man, San.

If only she knew...

The end.

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