Faded Warmth
pairing: manon bannerman x fem!reader info: a familiar smell pulls Manon back into memories of love, loss, and moments she can never relive. warnings: angst, major character death, hospital scenes, grief, emotional trauma, no happy ending note: yall.. i know i said no more angst fics after the Dani one but i couldn’t help myself. i was using an alcohol pad the other day and the smell made me wanna write this. idk why, but i’m sorry in advance 💔
Manon woke slowly, the kind of slow that came from deep sleep and nowhere urgent to be. Morning light slipped through the curtains in soft, uneven streaks, painting the walls of the bedroom in pale gold. The room still carried the quiet warmth of sleep, the air slightly cool against her skin where the blanket had shifted during the night. For a moment she stayed completely still, letting her eyes adjust, letting her mind drift somewhere between dreaming and waking.
The first thing she noticed was the warmth pressed against her side.
Y/N was still asleep beside her, curled toward Manon like she had instinctively moved closer sometime during the night. One arm rested loosely across Manon’s waist, fingers relaxed against the fabric of her shirt as if they had fallen there without thinking. Her breathing was slow and even, the steady rise and fall of her chest barely disturbing the blanket pulled halfway up her body. A few strands of hair had fallen across her cheek, messy and soft in the way it always was in the morning.
Manon watched her quietly.
It wasn’t unusual.
She did this a lot.
There was something about mornings like this that made time feel slower, like the world outside their apartment had decided to wait before demanding anything from them. No rehearsals yet. No cameras. No schedules or alarms or rushing from one place to another because of her life, being part of a global girl group. Just a quiet bedroom, warm sheets, and the person she loved more than anything in the world lying a few inches away.
Her fingers moved without thinking, gently brushing over Y/N’s hand where it rested against her waist.
The small movement was enough to stir her.
Y/N shifted slightly, her eyebrows knitting together as if she were fighting her way out of sleep. Her head moved deeper into the pillow for a moment before she slowly blinked her eyes open. It took her a second to focus, her gaze unfocused in that familiar morning haze before it finally landed on Manon.
The confusion on her face faded almost immediately.
A sleepy smile replaced it.
“Why are you awake?”
Her voice came out quiet and rough from sleep, barely louder than the soft sounds drifting in from outside the window. Manon felt her lips curve slightly in response.
“I just woke up.”
Y/N squinted toward the window, clearly unhappy with the sunlight pouring into the room. She shifted closer to Manon without even realizing she was doing it, her arm tightening slightly where it rested across her waist.
“It’s too bright.”
Manon let out a soft laugh, careful not to move too much.
“You say that every morning.”
“Because it’s true every morning.”
Y/N dragged the blanket higher until it covered half her face, trying to hide from the light invading the room. Her voice came out muffled through the fabric.
“What time is it?”
Manon reached toward the nightstand beside the bed, grabbing her phone and tapping the screen awake. The soft glow lit her face briefly as she checked the time.
“Ten forty-two.”
The reaction was immediate.
Y/N groaned loudly and buried her face deeper into the pillow like the information had physically offended her.
“That’s illegal.”
Manon raised an eyebrow.
“That’s morning.”
“Exactly.”
The blanket shifted as Y/N turned onto her back, staring dramatically at the ceiling like the concept of time itself had betrayed her. Manon watched the whole thing with quiet amusement, resting her head slightly deeper into the pillow.
She loved moments like this.
Not the big ones.
Not the exciting ones people usually thought about when they talked about relationships.
Just this.
The little things.
The lazy mornings. The pointless conversations. The quiet way Y/N always found her even in sleep, drifting closer without ever realizing she was doing it.
Manon reached over after a moment, brushing a loose strand of hair away from Y/N’s face where it had fallen across her eyes.
Y/N blinked slowly, turning her head to look at her again.
“You’re staring.”
Manon didn’t bother pretending otherwise.
“You look cute.”
Y/N stared at her like she had just said the most ridiculous thing in the world.
“I literally just woke up.”
“Exactly.”
Y/N rolled her eyes, though the faint smile pulling at the corner of her mouth betrayed her.
“You’re biased.”
“I’m honest.”
Y/N studied her for a second longer, her expression softening in that quiet way it always did when the teasing faded.
“You’re in love with me.”
Manon didn’t hesitate.
“Yeah.”
The word came out easily, like it had been sitting there waiting.
Y/N went quiet for a moment after that, the playful look on her face fading into something softer. Her eyes drifted over Manon’s face like she was memorizing something, the silence between them comfortable and familiar.
Finally, she shifted closer again, resting her head against Manon’s shoulder.
Her hair tickled lightly against Manon’s neck as she settled there.
“You have rehearsal later, don’t you?”
Manon nodded slightly.
“Two.”
Y/N groaned again, though this time the sound was quieter, more tired than dramatic.
“I hate rehearsal days.”
“You’re not the one rehearsing.”
“I’m emotionally affected.”
Manon laughed softly, the sound warm in the quiet room.
Y/N tilted her head slightly, looking up at her again with sleepy eyes.
“Make me breakfast.”
Manon looked down at her.
“You’re not even out of bed.”
“That’s why I need breakfast.”
Manon shook her head a little.
“You’re unbelievable.”
“I’m hungry.”
Manon hesitated for a second before sighing dramatically.
“Fine.”
Y/N’s face brightened immediately.
“Pancakes.”
Manon stared at her.
“You say that every time.”
“Because pancakes are the best breakfast.”
“You remember what happened the last time I made pancakes.”
Y/N didn’t look remotely concerned.
“They were good.”
“They were burnt.”
“They were crispy.”
Manon stared at her for a moment longer before finally laughing under her breath.
Somehow Y/N always did this.
Turn the smallest things into something warm.
Something easy.
Something that made Manon forget about everything else waiting for her outside this apartment.
For a moment she just looked at her again, really looked at her.
The messy hair. The sleepy smile. The warmth of her pressed against Manon’s side.
The quiet certainty that this person was home.
And Manon thought, not for the first time, that she could stay in this moment forever.
The kitchen slowly filled with the warm smell of butter and sugar, the kind that lingered in the air and made the entire apartment feel softer somehow. Sunlight had begun to stretch further across the counter now, spilling through the wide window above the sink and reflecting faintly against the pale tile walls. The brightness made everything look calmer than it probably was in reality, like the world outside their apartment had agreed to move a little slower for the morning.
Manon stood by the stove with quiet focus, carefully watching the batter cook in the pan. The edges of the pancake were beginning to bubble slightly, small circles forming across the surface while the heat worked its way through the middle. She had one hand resting lightly on the handle of the pan and the other holding the spatula, ready for the exact moment she needed to flip it.
Behind her, Y/N sat sideways on one of the stools at the counter, her legs loosely crossed while she watched the entire process with exaggerated seriousness. One elbow rested against the countertop while her chin leaned into her palm, her expression somewhere between amused and deeply invested.
It had become a routine without either of them really planning it.
Manon cooking.
Y/N watching.
And commenting on everything.
“You’re concentrating way too hard.”
Manon glanced over her shoulder for a moment, though she kept the spatula hovering near the pan.
“I’m making sure they don’t burn.”
“You’re acting like you’re performing surgery.”
Manon let out a quiet breath that was half a laugh.
“The last time I didn’t pay attention, you called them charcoal.”
Y/N’s lips curved slightly.
“They were charcoal.”
“They were slightly overdone.”
“They were black.”
Manon flipped the pancake before responding again, the motion smooth and careful. The pancake landed perfectly on its other side, golden brown across the surface instead of burnt.
Y/N leaned forward immediately.
“Oh.”
Her voice carried clear surprise.
Manon raised one eyebrow slightly, trying to hide the small sense of victory she felt.
“Oh?”
Y/N studied the pancake with narrowed eyes, clearly inspecting it like a food critic examining a professional dish.
“That actually looks good.”
“It always looks good.”
“It did not always look good.”
Manon turned back toward the stove, though a faint smile had begun to form.
The second pancake finished cooking a few minutes later, joining the first one on the plate beside the stove. The stack grew slowly with each one she made, the scent growing sweeter and warmer the longer it filled the kitchen.
Y/N had straightened slightly on the stool now, her attention completely locked on the growing plate.
“You’re taking a really long time.”
Manon slid another pancake onto the plate before finally turning around to face her.
“Cooking takes time.”
“Being hungry does not.”
Manon carried the plate across the small kitchen and set it down in front of her.
The stack wasn’t huge, but it was enough to count as a proper breakfast.
Y/N looked at it like someone had just handed her something incredibly important.
“You made these.”
“Yes.”
“And they’re edible.”
Manon crossed her arms lightly.
“They were always edible.”
Y/N picked up the fork resting on the counter, cutting carefully into the top pancake. The steam curled upward slightly as the fork slid through the soft center.
For a moment she didn’t say anything.
She took a bite slowly.
Then she blinked.
Her expression shifted almost immediately.
Manon watched her carefully, trying to read the reaction before she said anything out loud.
Y/N swallowed before looking back up at her.
“These are actually really good.”
The relief that spread through Manon’s chest was immediate, though she tried not to show it too clearly.
“I told you.”
Y/N took another bite, this one faster than the first.
“No, seriously.”
She paused to chew before continuing.
“You’ve improved a lot.”
Manon leaned back against the counter behind her, folding her arms loosely while watching her eat.
“I’ve been practicing.”
Y/N looked up again, her expression slightly softer now.
“You have.”
Manon shrugged lightly.
“I like cooking for you.”
Y/N went quiet for a moment after that.
The kitchen felt warm around them, the sunlight shifting slowly across the floor while the quiet sounds of the city drifted in through the open window. A breeze moved the curtain slightly, letting in a faint scent of fresh air that mixed with the sweetness of the pancakes.
Y/N cut another bite, though her movements had slowed slightly.
“You don’t have to do that, you know.”
Manon tilted her head slightly.
“Do what?”
“Take care of me like that.”
Manon watched her carefully for a second before answering.
“I want to.”
Y/N looked down at the plate again, her expression thoughtful as she pushed the fork gently through the pancake.
“You already do a lot.”
Manon understood what she meant without needing more explanation.
Her schedule.
The rehearsals.
The long hours working.
Most weeks were busy enough that it was easy to lose track of days entirely.
But mornings like this made everything else feel manageable.
Manon stepped closer to the counter again, resting her hands against the edge.
“I like doing normal things.”
Y/N glanced up at her again.
“Pancakes are normal?”
“Yes.”
Y/N considered that for a moment before nodding slowly.
“Okay.”
She took another bite before continuing.
“Then I like normal things too.”
Manon smiled faintly.
For a while neither of them said anything.
The quiet between them wasn’t uncomfortable.
It never was.
Y/N finished the last few bites of the pancakes slowly, clearly enjoying them more than she expected. When she finally set the fork down, she leaned back slightly on the stool and let out a satisfied breath.
“That was amazing.”
Manon raised an eyebrow.
“You doubted me.”
“I regret my doubt.”
“You should.”
Y/N laughed quietly.
The sound filled the kitchen in a way that always made the space feel warmer.
Manon reached for the plate, carrying it over to the sink while Y/N watched her from the stool.
“You’re staring again.”
Manon glanced back at her over her shoulder.
“You’re staring at me washing dishes.”
“I’m observing.”
“You’re judging.”
“I’m appreciating.”
Manon turned back to the sink, though her smile was obvious now.
Behind her, the stool scraped lightly against the floor as Y/N slid off it. A moment later she felt arms wrap around her waist from behind, warm and familiar.
Y/N rested her chin against Manon’s shoulder while the water ran quietly in the sink.
For a moment neither of them spoke.
Manon could feel her breathing against her back, slow and steady.
The closeness felt natural.
Comfortable.
Like something that had existed forever.
“You smell like pancakes.”
Manon let out a small laugh.
“I was just cooking.”
“I like it.”
Y/N’s voice was soft against her shoulder.
The kitchen felt brighter now, the sunlight reaching almost all the way across the floor. Outside, the sounds of the city had grown louder as the morning turned into late morning.
But inside the apartment everything still felt calm.
Still.
Manon finished rinsing the plate and set it aside to dry before turning around in Y/N’s arms. The movement was slow enough that Y/N didn’t let go immediately, their hands still loosely resting against each other’s sides.
For a moment they just looked at each other.
Y/N’s hair was still messy from sleep.
Her eyes were still a little heavy with leftover tiredness.
Manon thought she looked perfect.
“You’re staring again.”
Manon didn’t even try denying it this time.
“I know.”
Y/N smiled slightly.
“Why?”
Manon hesitated for only a second before answering honestly.
“Because I love you.”
The words settled gently between them.
Y/N’s expression softened immediately, the quiet warmth returning to her eyes.
“I love you too.”
The moment stretched quietly.
Simple.
Comfortable.
The kind of moment that felt too ordinary to matter.
The kind of moment that would eventually become unforgettable.
The apartment felt different later in the afternoon.
The quiet warmth of the morning had slowly shifted into something brighter, something filled with the natural rhythm of the day moving forward. Sunlight stretched further across the living room floor now, spilling through the tall windows and warming the pale wood beneath their feet. Outside, the city had grown louder, the distant sounds of traffic and conversations drifting upward through the open window.
Manon sat cross-legged on the couch, her phone balanced loosely in her hand while a schedule filled the screen.
Practice.
Interview.
Dance rehearsal.
Studio session.
Another rehearsal.
The list felt endless sometimes, stretching across days and weeks in a blur of responsibilities tied to her life as an idol.
It wasn’t something she hated.
In fact, most days she loved it.
But there were moments, quiet ones like this, where the schedule felt heavier than usual.
“You’re doing that thing again.”
Y/N’s voice drifted from the kitchen doorway, soft but knowing.
Manon looked up from her phone slowly.
“What thing?”
Y/N walked into the room, carrying two glasses of water that caught the sunlight as she moved. The reflection flickered across the wall briefly before she placed one of them down on the coffee table in front of the couch.
“The staring at your schedule like it personally offended you thing.”
Manon let out a small breath through her nose, setting the phone down beside her.
“I’m not offended.”
“You’re definitely offended.”
Y/N sat down beside her, tucking one leg beneath herself while reaching for the other glass.
“You’ve been looking at that for like ten minutes.”
Manon leaned her head back against the couch cushion, staring up at the ceiling for a moment before answering.
“It’s just a busy week.”
“Every week is a busy week.”
Manon turned her head slightly to look at her.
“You’re not wrong.”
Y/N studied her for a second longer, the quiet smile on her face fading into something more thoughtful.
“You like it though.”
Manon didn’t hesitate.
“I do.”
The answer came easily because it was the truth.
Performing.
Practicing.
Standing on stage in front of thousands of people.
The adrenaline of it all had become part of her life in a way she couldn’t imagine losing.
Still, the thought of leaving the apartment this afternoon felt harder than usual.
Y/N leaned back against the couch beside her, their shoulders brushing lightly together.
“You’ll be back tonight.”
Manon nodded slightly.
“Late.”
“I’ll still be here.”
Manon smiled faintly at that.
The certainty in Y/N’s voice always felt grounding, like an anchor she could hold onto when everything else around her moved too fast.
For a moment they sat there quietly, the sunlight shifting slowly across the room while the air moved gently through the open window.
Manon reached for her water glass, taking a small sip before setting it back down.
Y/N watched her carefully.
“What time do you have to leave?”
Manon glanced toward the clock on the wall.
“In like twenty minutes.”
Y/N groaned softly, letting her head fall back against the couch cushion.
“I hate that.”
Manon raised an eyebrow slightly.
“You hate that I have a job?”
“I hate that your job steals you.”
The words weren’t dramatic.
They were said lightly.
But Manon understood the meaning behind them anyway.
She reached over, nudging Y/N gently with her shoulder.
“You knew what you signed up for.”
“I signed up for you.”
Manon felt something warm settle in her chest.
The kind of warmth that always came when Y/N said things like that without even realizing how deeply they landed.
Y/N turned her head to look at her again, eyes soft but steady.
“You’re worth the schedule.”
Manon held her gaze for a moment longer than necessary.
Then she leaned forward slightly, resting her elbows on her knees.
“I wish I could take you with me sometimes.”
Y/N smiled faintly.
“You do take me.”
Manon blinked.
“What?”
Y/N reached forward, tapping lightly against Manon’s chest.
“Up here.”
Manon laughed quietly under her breath.
“That was cheesy.”
“It was romantic.”
“It was extremely cheesy.”
Y/N didn’t look remotely embarrassed.
“You love it.”
Manon didn’t argue.
The room grew quiet again after that, the kind of silence that came easily between them. Outside, a breeze moved the curtain near the window, letting in the faint scent of the city air.
It carried something else too.
A sharp, sterile smell drifting faintly from somewhere outside the apartment building.
Manon noticed it for only a second before it disappeared again.
She wrinkled her nose slightly.
“What?”
Y/N had noticed the expression immediately.
“Nothing.”
Manon shook her head slightly.
“I thought I smelled something weird.”
Y/N tilted her head.
“Like what?”
Manon hesitated, trying to place it.
“I don’t know.”
She paused before continuing.
“Kind of like… alcohol or something.”
Y/N shrugged lightly.
“Someone probably cleaning something.”
“Maybe.”
The moment passed quickly.
Manon stood up from the couch, stretching slightly as she reached for her bag near the door.
Y/N watched her from the couch.
“You’re really leaving.”
Manon slung the strap over her shoulder.
“I have to.”
Y/N sighed softly, though she stood up anyway.
The short walk across the living room closed the space between them easily. For a moment they just stood there facing each other, the quiet apartment surrounding them.
Y/N reached forward first, her hands resting lightly on Manon’s waist.
Manon mirrored the gesture a second later.
“You’ll text me when you get there.”
It wasn’t a question.
Manon nodded.
“I always do.”
“And when practice ends.”
“Yes.”
“And if you’re running late.”
Manon laughed softly.
“Yes.”
Y/N narrowed her eyes slightly.
“I’m serious.”
“I know.”
Manon leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss against her forehead.
Y/N closed her eyes for a moment, leaning into it.
“I’ll miss you.”
The words were soft.
Simple.
But Manon felt them settle somewhere deep in her chest anyway.
“I’ll be back before you know it.”
Y/N opened her eyes again.
“You always say that.”
“And I’m always right.”
Y/N smiled slightly.
“Sometimes.”
Manon lingered there for another second before finally stepping back.
The door felt heavier than usual when she opened it.
She didn’t know why.
Maybe it was the warmth of the apartment behind her.
Maybe it was the way Y/N stood there watching her leave.
Maybe it was something else entirely.
She stepped into the hallway anyway.
Behind her, Y/N called out one more thing before the door closed.
“Don’t forget to eat later!”
Manon laughed softly, shaking her head.
“I won’t!”
The door clicked shut behind her a second later.
The hallway smelled faintly sterile.
Like cleaning supplies.
Manon paused for just a moment before walking toward the elevator, the scent fading as she moved further away.
She didn’t think much about it then.
It was just another small moment in an ordinary day.
Another tiny detail in a life full of them.
But later, when memories became all she had left, Manon would remember things like that far too clearly.
The smell of alcohol.
The quiet afternoon sunlight.
The way Y/N had stood in the living room doorway watching her leave.
And how none of it had felt like goodbye.
The apartment had grown warmer as the day moved on, the sun inching higher across the windows until it spilled bright, golden streaks across the pale wood floors. Outside, the city buzzed with life, the muffled hum of cars and distant voices drifting through the open windows. Manon sat on the couch, phone balanced in her hand as she scrolled through the schedule for the day, each line a reminder of the relentless pace of life. Dance practice, recordings, interviews, rehearsals stacked on top of each other in neat, overwhelming columns. She wasn’t stressed yet, but there was a weight in seeing it all at once, the kind that made her chest tighten slightly even before the work began.
“You’re doing that thing again.”
Y/N’s voice called from the kitchen, soft and teasing but carrying a weight of familiarity.
Manon looked up, squinting against the sunlight that had grown sharper in the living room. Y/N stepped through the doorway carrying two glasses of water, the sunlight catching the liquid in a golden shimmer before she set one down carefully on the coffee table. Her hair was messy from sleep, slightly tangled, and the sight made Manon’s chest tighten in that warm, impossible way that had nothing to do with exhaustion and everything to do with seeing the person she loved in quiet, domestic moments.
“What thing?”
“The staring at your schedule like it personally offended you thing.”
Y/N slid onto the couch beside Manon, legs crossed and hands resting lightly in her lap. Her gaze lingered on Manon’s face in a way that made it impossible for her to ignore.
Manon let out a small breath and leaned back slightly against the couch cushion, trying to dismiss the tension she didn’t even realize she had been holding.
“I’m not offended.”
“You’re definitely offended,” Y/N insisted, eyes narrowing playfully as she reached over to nudge Manon’s arm. “Every week is busy. But you act like it’s the end of the world.”
“It’s just a busy week,” Manon admitted quietly, her gaze dropping to the floor for a second before flicking back to Y/N.
Y/N’s smile softened, no longer teasing.
“You like it though.”
“I do,” Manon said immediately. The truth landed in her chest the same way every time, firm and undeniable. Performing, rehearsing, standing on stage with thousands of fans screaming her name—it all meant something to her. But in these quiet afternoons, the weight of it pressed differently. It wasn’t heavy, exactly; it was the kind of weight that reminded her how lucky she was to have someone waiting behind the doors of this apartment who made it all feel like more than just work.
Y/N shifted closer, brushing her shoulder against Manon’s.
“You’ll be back tonight, won’t you?”
Manon nodded, a small smile forming despite the tension of the looming day.
“Late.”
“I’ll still be here,” Y/N said quietly, resting her head against Manon’s shoulder for just a second before pulling back slightly to look up at her. The certainty in her voice made the room feel smaller, cozier, safer than it probably had any right to feel.
“I wish I could take you with me sometimes,” Manon admitted, her voice low as if speaking it aloud might make it disappear.
Y/N tilted her head, her eyes soft.
“You do take me,” she said, tapping lightly against Manon’s chest. “Up here.”
Manon laughed quietly, the sound filling the apartment with something gentle and warm.
“That was cheesy.”
“It was romantic.”
“It was extremely cheesy.”
Y/N didn’t look embarrassed at all.
“You love it.”
Manon didn’t argue. She leaned back against the couch, letting the sun wash over her for a moment while the city hummed beyond the window. She noticed a faint, sharp scent that drifted in with the breeze, a smell that was almost too sterile for the time of day. She wrinkled her nose slightly, catching it again as it lingered on the edge of memory, familiar but distant.
“What?”
Y/N asked, noticing the subtle movement of Manon’s expression.
“Nothing,” Manon said quickly, shaking her head. “I just… thought I smelled something weird.”
“Like what?”
“Kind of like… alcohol pads,” Manon said softly, as if saying it out loud might make it real. She blinked, dismissing the thought immediately, convinced she was overthinking a simple scent carried from somewhere else in the building.
“Someone must be cleaning or something,” she added, forcing a small shrug.
“Maybe,” Y/N said with a faint smile, not pressing further.
The fleeting scent lingered at the edge of Manon’s mind, sharp and slightly clinical, like the faint memory of something she couldn’t quite place. She pushed it aside, focusing on Y/N, the soft curve of her smile, the quiet presence beside her, the weight of home that existed only when they were together.
Minutes passed, stretching in the quiet apartment like hours. Manon leaned forward slightly, running a hand through her hair as she thought about the day ahead, the schedule she couldn’t escape, and the way Y/N had made the simple act of being at home feel like an anchor.
“You’ll text me when you get there?”
“It’s a habit,” Manon said, shrugging slightly. “Of course I’ll text.”
“And when practice ends.”
“Yes.”
“And if you’re running late.”
“Yes,” she added again, smiling despite herself.
Y/N’s gaze softened, and she pressed forward slightly, her arms brushing lightly against Manon’s side.
“I’m serious,” she said, her voice quiet but steady.
“I know,” Manon replied, reaching over to squeeze her hand gently. There was something about these small reassurances, this ritual they performed daily, that made the outside world feel less relentless.
She leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to Y/N’s forehead. The warmth of her hair against her lips, the subtle scent of home mixed with the faint remnants of the alcohol pad smell, pressed into her memory even now. Y/N closed her eyes for a moment, leaning into the gesture as if time itself had slowed, freezing the moment in gold light and quiet breathing.
“I’ll miss you,” Y/N whispered as Manon finally stepped back toward the door, the weight of the upcoming day settling in again.
“I’ll be back before you know it,” Manon replied, holding the words like a promise, though she didn’t know yet how much those simple promises would matter in the future.
The door felt heavier than usual as she opened it, sunlight spilling into the hallway and catching against the polished floor. She paused for a fraction of a second, the faint scent of alcohol pads lingering in the hallway again, sharper here, almost tangible. She wrinkled her nose lightly but dismissed it, convinced it was nothing important. She always dismissed things like this, at least until memories decided otherwise.
Y/N called out just before she closed the door.
“Don’t forget to eat later!”
Manon laughed softly, shaking her head at the familiarity of it.
“I won’t!”
The hallway smelled faintly of the sterile cleaner from the building, the same sharp tang of alcohol pads she’d noticed earlier. For a brief moment she inhaled unconsciously, and it struck her—the memory of hospitals she had seen on visits with other trainees, the faint scent of medical supplies brushing her senses, even though she didn’t yet realize how deep the connection would become. She let it go quickly, turning toward the elevator and pressing the button, focusing on the day ahead.
It was just another ordinary day.
And yet, even in the midst of ordinary, there was a memory hiding quietly in the edges of the world—a smell she didn’t yet understand, a hint of a time she hadn’t lived yet, but one she would remember for the rest of her life.
The apartment was quiet when Manon returned from rehearsal. The sunlight had faded completely, leaving only the soft glow of scattered lamps. Usually, this quiet would feel comforting, but tonight it pressed on her chest like an unexpected weight. She kicked off her shoes and hung her bag on the chair by the kitchen, pausing as a faint, sharp scent reached her nose. The smell was subtle, sterile, and unmistakable—alcohol pads. Her chest tightened involuntarily at the memory it conjured, and she forced herself to ignore it.
“Manon?”
Y/N’s voice came softly from the couch. She was sitting there wrapped in a blanket, hair slightly mussed from a nap. The dim light highlighted the softness of her face and the quiet vulnerability in her posture. Manon moved toward her slowly, drawn by the warmth of her presence despite the creeping unease in the room.
“Hey,” Manon said, sliding onto the couch beside her. She reached for Y/N’s hand, holding it gently. The warmth of her fingers anchored her, though the scent lingered at the edges of her mind, prickling uncomfortably.
“You’re tired,” Y/N said quietly, her gaze scanning Manon’s face.
“I’m fine,” Manon replied, though the words felt hollow. Rehearsals had been long, and her body was exhausted, but it wasn’t just fatigue weighing her down. The scent in the air tugged at her memory, brushing against something she didn’t want to think about yet.
“You smell it too,” Y/N said suddenly, her tone low but certain.
“What?”
“That smell,” Y/N said, nodding toward the air. “Like… alcohol pads.”
Manon’s throat tightened. She squeezed Y/N’s hand briefly, forcing herself to focus on the warmth beneath her fingers. The scent was sharp now, almost insistent, brushing memories she wasn’t ready to face. She blinked rapidly, willing herself to look at Y/N and nothing else.
“It’s probably just from somewhere else,” Manon said softly. “Someone cleaning, or… I don’t know.”
Y/N didn’t look convinced. She shifted slightly, her eyes steady and searching. “It smells like the hospital,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Like when… when you used to sit there with me.”
Manon felt the air leave her lungs for a moment. The words settled over her like a weight she had been avoiding, and the quiet apartment seemed suddenly colder, the faint scent of alcohol pads almost overwhelming. She held Y/N’s hand tighter, wishing she could push the memory away, wishing this was still just a normal evening.
Manon stayed frozen for a moment, staring at Y/N’s face, trying to steady her breathing. The blanket around Y/N seemed to shrink her small frame even more, and for the first time, Manon noticed the way her hands trembled ever so slightly when she rested them in her lap. She had always known Y/N was fragile in ways the world didn’t see, but tonight it felt sharper, closer, like the quiet apartment was holding its breath with her. The faint smell of alcohol pads had become stronger now, impossible to ignore, curling into her memory and refusing to let go.
“I… I didn’t think you’d notice,” Manon said, her voice tight. She looked away, afraid if she met Y/N’s eyes she would break entirely.
Y/N reached out and tilted Manon’s chin gently, forcing her to look at her. “I notice everything about you,” she said softly, though her eyes were serious, almost sad. “Even the smells.”
Manon swallowed, the lump in her throat refusing to budge. The scent of alcohol pads brought back nights she had tried to forget, nights when the world had shrunk down to a small hospital room and a single bed that wasn’t big enough to hold both of them. The memory pressed on her chest, heavy and unrelenting.
“I hate it,” Manon whispered, her voice almost breaking. “I hate the smell of them because… because it reminds me of all the nights I spent sitting by your side, holding your hand, and hoping you’d wake up.”
Y/N’s eyes softened, glimmering with unshed tears. She reached for Manon’s face, cupping her cheek gently. “You were always there,” she said quietly. “Even when it hurt.”
Manon leaned into her touch, trying to breathe through the memories that were coming too fast now. She could see Y/N’s pale hands, the IV lines, the machines beeping softly in the background, the scent of antiseptic and alcohol pads filling the air while she prayed desperately that Y/N would pull through. Every memory was vivid, every second carved into her chest.
“I couldn’t leave you,” Manon said, her voice shaking. “I wouldn’t.”
“You didn’t,” Y/N whispered, a faint smile tugging at her lips, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “You stayed.”
Manon’s hands trembled as they clutched Y/N’s own. The blanket that had once seemed comforting now felt like it barely held her in. She remembered holding Y/N close, feeling her fragile body shiver under the soft sheets, the scent of alcohol pads mingling with the faint sweetness of her shampoo, and how she had promised herself she would never forget a single detail.
“Do you remember,” Y/N asked softly, “how I hated the taste of the medicine?”
Manon nodded immediately. “I remember. I made you take it anyway.” She chuckled quietly, a hollow sound. “Every night, even when you fought me.”
Y/N smiled faintly, though her eyes were distant. “I hated it. But I trusted you.”
The room was quiet for a long moment. The only sound was the faint hum of the city outside, a distant reminder that life was still moving while they were trapped in memory. Manon pressed her forehead to Y/N’s, breathing in as if she could memorize everything once more—the soft rise and fall of her chest, the warmth of her skin, the faint scent of alcohol pads that had haunted her senses for months now.
“I would give anything,” Manon whispered, “to go back and stay with you just a little longer.”
Y/N’s eyes glimmered as tears finally slid down her cheeks. “You already stayed,” she said softly. “Longer than anyone could.”
Manon closed her eyes tightly, holding Y/N’s hand as if she could anchor herself there, as if she could will the memory into the present and erase the pain that had already begun to bloom in her chest. But the memory was relentless. She could feel the cold edges of the hospital room, the sterile smell of alcohol pads in the air, the quiet beeping of machines, and the weight of knowing she couldn’t change what had happened.
She held Y/N close, pressing her hands against her fragile body, memorizing every inch. The world outside the apartment faded completely. There was only the scent, the touch, and the echoes of every night spent wishing she could turn back time.
“I hate it,” Manon whispered again, voice breaking. “I hate the smell of alcohol pads because they remind me of the nights I couldn’t make it better. Nights I just sat there, hoping you’d come back to me.”
Y/N’s hand rested lightly on her cheek, still warm, still real in memory. “I came back,” she whispered, faint and trembling. “And you stayed.”
Manon clung to the memory, knowing it was all she had left now. Every detail—the blankets, the sunlight, the smell—was etched into her forever.
The apartment felt impossibly empty when Manon stepped through the door. The faint smell of alcohol pads lingered in the air. It was sharp, sterile, and it made her chest tighten. Memories pressed in from all sides, as if the walls themselves carried Y/N’s presence.
She kicked off her shoes and sank onto the couch. The blanket wrapped around her shoulders smelled faintly of Y/N’s shampoo. The clinical tang of the alcohol pads pressed into her memory, pulling her back to hospital rooms she had tried to forget. Her hands trembled as she held the fabric to her chest.
“You’re staring again.”
The voice echoed in her mind. She remembered Y/N teasing her, always noticing the smallest things. Her lips trembled as she imagined Y/N’s small, warm hand in hers.
“I wish you were here.”
Silence filled the apartment. The blanket felt too thin to hold her. The couch seemed impossibly wide. Every corner reminded her of what she had lost.
“You’re tired.”
Manon pictured Y/N on the couch, eyes soft, voice gentle.
“I’m fine.”
Even saying it aloud felt empty. Rehearsals and schedules were exhausting, but this was a different weight entirely. The memory of Y/N, fragile and warm, pressed into her chest with a force she hadn’t anticipated.
“You smell it too.”
Manon’s throat tightened. She remembered the nights by Y/N’s bedside. The beeping of machines, the antiseptic in the air, the sharp tang of alcohol pads. Every detail etched itself into her mind.
“What?”
“That smell,” Y/N had said. “Like… alcohol pads.”
Manon’s hands clenched the blanket tighter. She could almost see Y/N lying in the hospital bed, hair tousled, lips parted slightly in sleep. She could feel the warmth of Y/N’s hand, soft and frail, and the memory of holding her there was unbearable.
“I hate it,” Manon whispered.
The words trembled out of her. “I hate the smell of alcohol pads because they remind me of all the nights I spent holding you, praying you’d wake up.”
Y/N’s eyes had always been soft when she looked at her, even through pain.
“You were always there,” Y/N had whispered, voice trembling. “Even when it hurt.”
Manon’s chest ached. The memory pressed down with unrelenting weight. Every blanket, every pillow, every subtle scent brought Y/N back into the room in fragments that were too sharp to endure.
“I couldn’t leave you,” Manon whispered again.
“You didn’t,” Y/N had said softly. “You stayed.”
She could feel the cold edges of that hospital room pressing against her now, even in her own apartment. Every beep of the machines, every sterile smell of the alcohol pads, every night spent holding Y/N’s hand returned in vivid clarity.
“I would give anything to just hold you again,” Manon whispered.
The tears came freely. She pressed her face into the blanket, clutching it tightly. The memory of Y/N was everywhere, and the apartment felt unbearably small without her.
She could almost hear Y/N’s laughter, faint and warm. She could almost feel the curve of her smile, the softness of her skin beneath her hands. But it was gone, and Manon knew it would never return.
Manon pressed her hands against her face, letting the tears fall freely. She could still remember the nights Y/N had slept fitfully in her arms, coughing and weak, her skin pale under the harsh hospital lights. The smell of alcohol pads had clung to everything—sheets, blankets, even Manon’s hair. Each inhalation now tore through her chest like a reminder she could never escape.
“I stayed,” she whispered aloud, voice cracking.
Every memory replayed in her mind, sharper than reality. Y/N’s small, tired smile after taking medicine she hated. The way her hand had trembled in Manon’s as she reassured her it would be okay. The faint antiseptic and alcohol pads filling the air around them. All of it returned with a clarity that made her feel as if she were back there, unable to help.
“I hated seeing you like that,” Manon admitted softly.
“You did everything,” Y/N had whispered one night, weak and fragile. “You stayed, even when it hurt.”
The apartment around her felt suffocating now. Every corner held a piece of her love. Every surface was a reminder that Y/N was gone. She ran a hand over the couch cushion, imagining Y/N leaning against it, hair messy, lips curved into that familiar, small smile. The ache in her chest grew heavier.
“I should’ve been able to save you,” Manon said, her voice shaking.
Her memory blurred with the reality she couldn’t change. The hospital room, the cold sheets, the beeping machines—they all pressed in, and the smell of alcohol pads was unbearable now. She could feel Y/N’s hand slipping from hers again, the finality of her absence pressing against her like a stone.
“You never left me,” she said, almost to herself.
The blanket slipped from her shoulders as she curled inward. She could almost hear Y/N’s faint laugh, the way it had warmed her heart even on the hardest nights. But it wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. The apartment remained silent. The scent of alcohol pads lingered as a cruel reminder of every night spent hoping for a miracle.
“I can’t bring you back,” Manon whispered. “I can’t.”
She pressed her face against the couch, inhaling deeply despite the sting of tears in her eyes. Each breath carried the memory of Y/N’s soft voice, the fragile warmth of her hand, and the sterile sharpness of the hospital air. She could feel the weight of all the years, the loss that had become a constant companion.
“I love you,” she said, words barely audible.
The memory of Y/N was vivid, every detail sharper than life itself. The scent of alcohol pads, the faint rustle of the blankets, the warmth of Y/N pressed to her side—it was all here, alive in her mind but absent in the world. Manon clutched the blanket to her chest, wishing she could hold her once more, even for a single second.
“I’ll never stop loving you,” she whispered.
Tears blurred her vision as she pressed her hands against her heart. Every heartbeat echoed the memory of holding Y/N close, of the fragile warmth she had carried. She remembered telling her it would be okay, believing it herself for every night she stayed awake by her side. The memory of Y/N’s soft sighs, the gentle grip of her hand, and the smell of alcohol pads haunted her now, sharper than ever.
“It’s just me now,” Manon said softly.
The silence of the apartment was overwhelming. Every familiar object now felt like a relic of something lost. She ran her hands along the couch cushion and the edge of the coffee table, as if touching the world could bring Y/N back. But it didn’t. All that remained was memory, lingering in the faint scent of alcohol pads, in the quiet of the empty space, and in the ache of her heart.
“I remember everything,” she whispered. “Every touch, every laugh, every tear. I remember it all.”
The apartment held her, silent and unyielding. The memory of Y/N was present in every detail: the light spilling across the floor, the faint smell of her shampoo mixed with alcohol pads, the subtle warmth of her hand still lingering on her skin. Manon pressed her face into the blanket, trying to memorize the feeling of holding her, of loving her completely and utterly.
“I wish I could go back,” she said, voice cracking.
She imagined Y/N smiling faintly, brushing a strand of hair from her face, eyes soft. She imagined the warmth, the laughter, the quiet teasing. And she imagined being able to hold her again, to tell her she loved her, to stay by her side without fear or sickness. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t go back. Y/N was gone.
Manon pressed her hand to her lips, tasting the salt of her tears. She inhaled deeply, letting the smell of alcohol pads, of hospital nights and love and loss, fill her completely. It burned, it ached, it reminded her of everything she had lost. And yet she held onto it, because it was all she had left.
“I love you,” she said again, voice trembling. “I always will.”
The apartment remained silent. The faint scent of alcohol pads lingered in the corners. Manon leaned back against the couch, clutching the blanket, letting the memory of Y/N press into her fully. Every laugh, every touch, every whispered promise she had ever made—everything lived in her now. It was bittersweet, it was painful, it was everything.
She closed her eyes, letting the tears fall freely.
She would never stop remembering.
She would never stop loving.
And she would never forget the scent of alcohol pads, or the nights spent holding Y/N, praying she would wake up, knowing now that those nights were all she would ever have.
⋆˚࿔
love, kc ♡
divider by: cafekitsune on tumblr
*sniffle*
go read it! now!!! go!!!!
Another one that hit a little too close to home.
