Parting words regret. Except when Caretaker finds Whumpee and attempts to apologize to them, Whumpee has amnesia. Therefore not only forgot the fight they had with Caretaker but also Caretaker overall.
Oh god this is so evil!!! Caretaker already would have felt guilty in regular parting words regret, but now that guilt is DOUBLED. Maybe they even feel like they deserve to be forgotten, after all they caused this to whumpee. And whumpee feels bad because it's clear caretaker loves them and desperately wants them to remember, but they just can't help it.
Here's a silly angsty little drabble for this because. Why not!
Thank you for the ask and the inspiration to write!
(I didn't really think of a reason why whumpee got amnesia so. They simply have amnesia)
Content warning: emotional whump, amnesia
Caretaker could barely believe their eyes as they saw Whumpee, their Whumpee, standing in front of them. Come to think of it, it had only been four days since they had last seen each other. But Caretaker hadn't had a decent night of sleep since, and they felt like it might as well have been a month. A month of sheer anguish, sorrow and guilt.
It was their own fault, really. All of it, from the very beginning. It was them who had taken a turn on the wrong street, gotten stuck in traffic for way longer than they should have, and come home in a less than pleasant state of mind. It was them who had made a snarky comment to Whumpee, who was just trying to cheer them up. It was them who had then gotten defensive when Whumpee called them out, and it was them who had said Whumpee was being impossible to be around, and made them walk out of their apartment, slamming the door behind them.
But it was over now, all of their worry and restlessness wondering if they would ever see Whumpee again. Whumpee was right there, alive, safe and sound and within their reach, and everything would be okay.
"Whumpee!" Caretaker didn't hesitate a second to squeeze them into the tightest hug possible, and their voice shook with emotion. "You're alive, you're okay! You scared the hell out of me, you know that?"
Caretaker's laugh faltered when they realized Whumpee was not really squeezing them back.
Right. Their argument wouldn't just go away like that, no matter how much they wanted to just forget it. There was something they had to do. Caretaker let go of them, and nervously looked down at their own hands.
"Whumpee, I- I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry for yelling at you. I was such an idiot. I was having a bad day, but that was absolutely no excuse to be so horrible to you. I really hope you can forgive me." Caretaker smiled a little. "I'll bake you a whole tray of cookies if you want me to."
"I'm sorry..." Whumpee mumbled.
That finally got Caretaker to look at them and see their expression, and it was nothing short of unexpected. Whumpee was the one who always cried first at the silly movies they loved to rewatch together, and now it was Caretaker who was about to burst into tears, while Whumpee looked just... puzzled. Did Whumpee not care for them anymore?
"No, you're not the one who should be apologizing! Whumpee, are you hurt? Did something happen?"
"No, I don't think so, it's just- you're..." Whumpee trailed off, squinting at them.
"Is- is something wrong with my face?" Caretaker put a hand to their own cheek, shamefully realizing their sleepless nights and granola-bar fueled days might have been seeping through their features.
"No, I just mean-" Whumpee looked away, breathed in, then back at Caretaker. "Would you, maybe, remind me of your name again?"
Caretaker felt like they had been punched in the stomach.
"I- I'm sorry, that was rude, wasn't it? It's just, I feel a little dazed right now, so if you could remind me of your name..."
Caretaker grabbed Whumpee by the shoulders, startling them.
"You're kidding me, right?" But Whumpee didn't laugh. "Whumpee, come on, it's me, Caretaker."
"Caretaker, of course!" Now Whumpee laughed awkwardly, and looked away. "I'm sure I can forgive you for whatever. What happened, happened, right? No need to be stuck in the past."
Caretaker put their hands on Whumpee's cheeks, guiding their face front to their own, and looked into Whumpee's eyes, with tears in their own. Whumpee swallowed.
"You don't remember me, do you?"
There was a moment of silence in which they stared deeply into each others eyes, and for a second Caretaker had hope. But an expression of defeat took over Whumpee's features, and they shook their head slowly.
"Do you remember nothing about me?" The tears were streaming down quickly now. "Nothing at all? About us, about our friendship?"
Caretaker's breathing became quicker, following the thundering of their heartbeat, gripping Whumpee's face tight, and it was too much. It was all too much against Whumpee's face, the face Caretaker loved so dearly, the face that stared back at them with confused, lost, blank, empty, unmoved nothingness.
"You're my best friend! You're my roommate, you're my whole world, you're my Whumpee! I'm Caretaker! Your Caretaker!"
Whumpee could only look at them. With pity. After Caretaker had yelled their heart out, hoping to awake any feeling, hoping that maybe their friendship was stronger than whatever happened to Whumpee, that was all they had left of emotion for them. Pity.
"I'm sorry." Whumpee murmured.
Slowly, gingerly, Caretaker removed their fingers from Whumpee's skin, and dried off a few tears. They shook their head.
"You're not the one who should be apologizing." Caretaker whispered.
It was their own fault, really. All of it, from the very beginning. It was them who had made Whumpee leave. It was them who caused Whumpee to walk off, alone, and disappear for four days. It was them who caused Whumpee to get into whatever horrible thing it was that erased Caretaker's existence from their memory. It was them who had caused all of this. And, come to think of it? They deserved to be forgotten. They deserved this. They deserved nothing but Whumpee's pity. They deserved nothing but anguish, sorrow and guilt.
"I'm so sorry, Whumpee." They closed their eyes.
But to Whumpee, Caretaker was gone.
