The most terrifying part of having memory issues is when you can feel something from 5 seconds ago be thrown out the window and there's an empty hole where it once was. You remember that you forgot something.
As someone who's researched neurological conditions extensively and interviewed people with memory disorders, I'm begging fiction writers to please, PLEASE stop with the "bonk on the head = total life erasure" trope. That's not how any of this works.
âč Retrograde amnesia (forgetting the past) is rare and almost NEVER involves forgetting your entire identity while maintaining perfect memory formation going forward. Know what's way more common? Anterograde amnesia: you can't form NEW memories. Like the guy from Memento, except usually less tattoo-based organizational systems and more confused repetition.
âč Head injuries causing amnesia? Sure, happens. But it's usually the minutes/hours around the trauma that vanish, not your entire childhood, first kiss, and ability to recognize your spouse. The brain doesn't store memories in one convenient "delete this folder" location. You might forget the car accident but remember your kids' names.
âč What's weird about real amnesia: skills often remain. You might not remember learning piano, but your fingers still know the keys. Procedural memory (how to do things) lives in different brain areas than episodic memory (life events). Your amnesiac character might not remember their name but could still speak three languages, drive stick shift, or execute complex martial arts.
âč Another thing: amnesia from psychological trauma (dissociative amnesia) is controversial and functions differently than neurological amnesia. It's selective, blocking specific traumatic events while leaving other memories intact. And it doesn't typically include identity confusion unless we're talking dissociative fugue states, which are incredibly rare.
âč Recovery is unpredictable and often incomplete. Memories might return in fragments, dreams, or triggered by specific sensory cues, but they're often unreliable, contaminated by suggestion or false memories your brain constructs to fill gaps.
âč If you want the drama of starting over, just... let your character fake it. Witness protection, running from the past, choosing to disappear, its way more plausible than convenient brain erasure.
For the longest time, I truly believed I couldnât have DID because I âdidnât have amnesiaâ.
Now, in my mind, amnesia meant everything sort of went black and youâd come to days later without a clue of what had happened or where you were. And while, that absolutely can be the case for someâ it wasnât for me.
Amnesia for me is much more complex. The gaps of memory I loose are patched together by the things that I do remember. My mind may omit half the day, but because I can remember the other half, it doesnât feel as if Iâve lost any time truly. My mind worked overtime to hide how much time I was loosing, simply because if I knew, I donât think the past version of myself wouldâve handled it very well. </3
I suppose all this is to say that how amnesia presents itself is much more complex than most realize, especially when your brain is trying to protect you in its own weird way. It took me a long time to understand its true face⊠Q_Q
Overall Synopsis: A car accident leaves you with missing puzzle pieces to assembleâthe stumble to blindly pick them out turns into the realization you have not only your career, places, and people to relearn, but also a boyfriend. Where will said puzzle pieces lead you to in the end? And to who, if anyone?
Overall Tropes: amnesia, second chance, strangers to friends, (more than) friends to lovers, idiots in love, slow burn (if you squint), forced proximity, workplace romance.
abstract. satoruâs whole entire world comes crashing down on him after finding out youâll now suffer from retrograde amnesia. forgetting your home, your past, and worst of all; him. now he must pave the way for your new lifeâwhile secretly carrying the burden of what led you to this whole catastrophe in the first place.
pairing. satoru x fem!reader
contains. mentions of drug abuse and relapse, hurt/comfort, angst, swearing, pills, severe self-loathing, regret, hospitalization, overdose, retrograde amnesia, ooc, slow burn-ish?, fluff if you squint, kissing, making out, HAPPY ENDING
word count. 7.9k
author's note. heyy guys this is the pt 2 to this fic so please go read/skim that one first to get the context of this one. this part is also based off of this song so listening to it while reading might be more enjoyable experience :))
âI'm sorry,â you spell out hesitantly, âdo I know you?â
satoru was no stranger to painânot at all. he lived it, breathed it. in fact, there have been so many instances in his life where he felt the weight of his sorrow to be too heavy to carry, times when he didnât even think he could make it through alive.
but, at least through all those times there was youâhis light of hopeâthe only hope he had left, that he could cling to when times were rough.
now, he had nothing.
oh.
oh. fuck.
he was going to be sick.
âd-do you know me?âme? love, what are you talking aboutâŠ?â
never in his wildest nightmares could he imagine a feat like this, where the universe could be so cruel so as to tear the one person he treasured from him in the worst way possible.
his ears rang with a twisted sort of screech, disorienting him to the horrors happening around himâhe could almost swear the breaking of his own heart was audible.
all the days spent with you. gone.
all the years of love and happiness. gone.
everything. gone.
for a moment, satoru just stays frozen there, staring at you like the world has tilted off its axis and heâs the only one who can feel it. the air in the room feels thinnerâtoo thin. it feels like the oxygen in the room has been siphoned out and replaced with pure lead.
its harder to breathe. itâs hard to breathe. he canât breatheâhe canâtâ
you gently touch his arm, and he recoils as if heâs been struck.
he doesnât blink.
heâs terrified that if he does, he'll have to accept that this is real.
but youâre still looking at him the same way when he finally forces himself to move as the reality finally sinks in. you don't know himâits clear in your expression. your eyes are open, lucid, yet searching his face with cautious curiosity instead of recognition. thereâs no warmth there. not even a flicker of shared history. nothing to prove for your shared nights of laughing and tears and everything in between.
just a stranger.
âoh,â he whispers, staring blankly at the wall behind you. his voice is barely audible, cracking and splintering over the one syllable that was able to leave his mouth. he doesn't cryâhis brain still refusing to believe this reality.
you shift slightly against the pillows, wincing faintly as your body adjusts. the sound is small and pained and instinctively he leans forward to helpâbut stops himself halfway, hands hovering uselessly midair when he sees the subtle tension in your shoulders. he drops his arms immediately, stepping back as though heâs crossed a boundary he didnât know could exist until now.
âIâm sorry,â you repeat, brows knitting together as if youâre genuinely distressed by your own confusion. âI donât⊠I donât know you. do you know me?â
he nods quickly, âthatâs okay,â he whispers, letting his head drop into his hands. his larynx won't let him make another noise past that, every time he attempts to speak his voice fractures around the edges. after a minute he clears his throat, trying again, âitâs okay. youâve been through a lot. a-and yes. yes i do know you. god, do i know youâŠâ
you study him closer now, and he feels your gaze like a physical thingâlike heâs being examined, having his honesty scrutinized by the one woman he would rather die than lie to. he's suddenly acutely insecure of the dark circles carved deep beneath his eyes and the hoodie he hasnât changed out of in days.
he must look fucking unhinged.
âwho are you?â you ask gently, unknowingly twisting the dagger further into his heart.
he swallows painfully, trying to breathe through the way his head feels like it'll split open, how his lungs feel like they might collapse and his throat betrayingly closes on him, âIâm satoru,â he offers slowly, wishfully hoping that his name might magically trigger something if he enunciates it carefully enough.
nothing changes in your expression except for a look of pure pity. it makes something in his chest splinter.
âweââ he starts, and then stops, exhaling shakily. âwe wereâareâwere together..â
your eyes flicker with surprise
âtogetherâ? like...?â you echo quietly.
âyeah.â he forces a smile that trembles despite his effort. âwe were datingâ
he doesnât mention how deeply intertwined your lives wereâdoesnât mention the apartment you share or the toothbrush next to his in the holder or the way you used to fall asleep with your hand wrapped tracing his heart, feeling the gradual slowing as he succumbed to his exhaustion.
he doesnât think he could survive saying any of those things out loud right now.
you look down at your hands, at the hospital bracelet around your wrist, at the IV taped to your skin. subconsciously, your fingers curl slightly into the blanket, scrunching up the rough fabric.
âIâm really sorry,â you whisper again. âI just⊠I donât feel anything. I donât remember being with you.â
he collapses back onto the chair, unable to keep his shaky legs up any longer. for a secondâjust oneâsomething selfish surges up his throat. he wants to shake you and tell you everything. to force every memory back into you one by one until something sticks. to describe the way you laugh when youâre half-asleep in excruciating detail, the way you pretend you donât like being kissed on the forehead even though you lean into it every time.
he wants to beg. to scream. to curse the world and just die where he stands.
âthatâs okay,â he finally bites out, forcing his voice to come out evenly, âyou donât have to.â
after a few agonizing minutes of silence, the doctor finally stepped in, clipboard in hand, but the second he sees satoru's shattered expression and your confused gaze, he freezes, his face reflecting his pity.
"ah⊠I was afraid of this," the doctor muttered under his breath before clearing his throat, "mr. gojoâ"
"fix it." satoru seethes sharply, voice low despite how wrecked he looks, "please just.. fix it. fix her. isn't there anything you could do?"
the doctor sighed, a mix of sympathy and resignation on his face, "mr. gojo, I'm afraid there's nothing more we can administer. retrograde amnesia of this levelâ"
"bullshit. there has to be something, anything!" he cuts off, patience wearing thin, "some drug, a procedureâsomething!" he was grasping at straws now, desperate for anything to get you back. "fuckâhow did this even happen..?" he asks brokenly, voice cracking, "why?"
"I really do apologize, sir, but we've exhausted all of our options. the human brain is a complex machine, and the substances she's consumed has impaired her brain's hippocampus, we cannot just go in and flip memories on and off at will."
the doctor continues gently, though his words were more like nails being driven into satoru's already devastated heart. "not to mention, the amnesia she has might be temporary. she could eventually recover her memories with gentle memory aids and time."
satoru's head snapped towards the doctor, hope cutting through his despair.
"gentleâŠmemory aids?" he repeated. his eyes darted to youâyour confused faceâand then back to the doctor.
"how? what kind?"
the doctor seemed to soften a bit, seeing the absolute devotion in satoru's eyes. "photos. objects with significance. smellsâperfume, your cologne." he gestures vaguely at satoru's eager expression, "without overwhelming her. it won't be an instant fix, and it is still a long shot."
satoru's mind was already racing. he could do that, he would do that. he could collect every single picture, every single video, every single love letter that he had written to you. he could drive you to every place you two have ever been. anything if it meant getting you back.
"okay.." he whispers, eyes snapping back to your curious gaze, "okay, i can do that.. thank you. thank you."
the first place he takes you is back to your shared apartment, holding you by the hand to steady you as you walk up the stairs to your shared dorm room.
"home," he whispers quietly as he opens the door for you, allowing you two to walk in. meanwhile, he's mentally preparing himself for the emotional toll of having to reintroduce you to your home of three years.
he keeps his hand wrapped around yours as you step inside, steadying you to make sure you don't trip on the chipped floorboard at the entrance. the apartment smells the sameâlaundry detergent, starbucks coffee pods, and the faint aroma of the candle you used to light every time you'd study. itâs all exactly as you left it.
and it's all completely foreign to you.
your gaze drifts over the couch. the throw blanket folded neatly over the arm. the permanent dent in the cushion from years of curling up and reading books in the same spot.
âdid we live here long?â you ask offhandedly, just to quell this awkwardness between you two and start a conversation.
âthree years,â he answers curtly.
three years of shared mornings. three years of domestic slumber parties. three years of building a bond that now only one of you remembers.
he watches your face carefullyâdesperately searching for anything, preferably a flicker of familiarity.
nothing.
you wander slowly through the living room like a guest in someone elseâs house. your fingers brush over shelves filled with little trinketsâconcert wristbands, old keychains, your chipped tea mug.
âwhere'd we get this?â you ask, holding up a small, beat-up hello kitty stuffie.
he smiles faintly at the reminder of that old plushie you used to love so much, âah. you cried when I won that for you at a carnival early on when we started dating." a brief, nostalgic pain passes over his features, "you said that it was the most romantic thing anyone had ever done for you.â
you blink at it, âI did?â
âyeah.â his voice softens. âyou insisted you were keeping it forever. god, I've tried convincing you to toss that beat up thing for ages, but you would just never let it go.â
you smile bittersweetly at the lost memory, your expression apologetic. âright⊠thank you.â
he looks away and nods quickly, like it doesnât hurt. he doesn't deserve to hurt, he reminds himself, he's the one who did this to you, after all.
a framed photo catches your eye, and you point at it, redirecting his focus.
âwhere was that one?â you ask curiously. âit looks so pretty.â
his gaze follows your finger. the town square you two would always visit. it was golden hour in the middle of summer. a perfect photo with you at the center in front of the beautiful fountain. he snapped a candid photo of you mid-laugh, your head thrown back in glee. the photo, unbeknownst to you, was also his current lockscreen.
he lets out a pained chuckle. âyeah⊠pretty is an understatement. we took it at the town square on our two-year anniversary.â his throat tightens. âyou shouldâve seen yourself that day, you were practically dashing around like a kid on a sugar rush trying to take everything in.â
you tilt your head at the photo, âI look so happy.â
âyou were,â he remarks fondly. with me, he doesnât add.
a few minutes later, you drift into the bedroom. he lingers in the doorway, unsure if heâs allowed to, or even should follow.
you pick up a polaroid from the nightstand. âthe restaurant in this one looks really baroque,â you comment casually.
the photo shows the two of you at a stupidly expensive restaurant somewhere in kyoto. candlelight everywhere. you were both leaning across the table, recreating the ridiculous disney spaghetti kiss while grinning like idiots.
he forces a smile onto his face, but his insides are churning like he's going to be sick, a small flame of self-pitying fury swelling up in his chest. how can you remember a word as ridiculous as 'baroque' but you couldn't even remember my own name?
you study the photo closely, "can we go back to that restaurant sometime?â you ask softly. âI wanna see if it'll maybe trigger a memory or something.â
before he can even help it, he snaps harshly, "if your own fucking bedroom doesn't trigger shit, then what will a random restaurant do for you that I couldn't?"
he regrets the words the second they leave his lips, and he instinctively clamps a hand over his mouth to keep from saying anything more. he feels the color drain from his face, leaving nothing but horror.
satoru shrinks back instantly, like the sound of his own voice disgusts him.
again.
he did it again.
he snapped at you. he raised his voice, with the same tone. same edge. same cruelty that spiraled everything out of control in the first place. he's no better than how he was before the accident.
he starts desperately. "fuck. I'm so sorrâ"
ââwell,â you interrupt gently, âthen if not to trigger an old memory, maybe we can go to that restaurant to make some new ones?â
he blinks stupidly.
you lower the photo, holding it loosely at your side. âwe donât have to recreate our past frame by frame,â you continue, voice steady. âbut Iâve seen enough proof by now to know we had something. and if our memories were real once⊠why donât we try to make some new ones?â
god. he doesn't think he could feel like more of a dick if he tried. youâre standing there offering him hope and grace right after he just yelled at you. you. you who don't even remember loving him but still try regardless.
you really were always too goddamn good for me, he thinks.
here he is, lashing out because heâs frustrated and grieving and terrified⊠and youâre responding with patience and kindness. the same kindness he weaponized the night everything fell apart. and following that thought, an ugly realization hits him like a bucket of ice cold water.
you donât know.
you donât know how you ended up in that hospital bed. he hasn't told you yet.
you donât know about the fight. the words he'd spat at you. the way your face crumpled when he said them. the pills. the silence.
you donât know that the reason you almost didnât wake up is because he couldnât control his goddamn mouth.
oh Lord. how would you look at him if you did? would that softness in your eyes vanish? would you abandon him entirely? you donât have three years of memories anchoring you to him anymore. nothing to tether you to him.
you could leave him painlessly and he would be the only one left bleeding.
suddenly, the idea of ânew memoriesâ doesnât sound so bad anymoreâit sounds like his new lifeline.
ây-yeah,â he says quietly. âyeah, we can do that⊠and Iâm really sorry for snapping at you.â
you give him a small, understanding smile. âdonât worry about it,â you offer softly. âIâm sure this must be a lot for you. I donât even know how Iâd handle it if the love of my life forgot everything about me.â
he almost laughs. probably better than Iâm handling it, thatâs for sure. because if the roles were reversedâif he had forgotten youâyou wouldâve been patient, it was in your nurturing nature. you wouldnât have torn him apart with your own grief, you wouldnât have made it about you, you wouldnât have snapped at him. you wouldn't have done any of the bullshit he's inflicting upon you now.
he nods, swallowing hard, âyeah,â he murmurs. âitâsâŠum, it's a lot.â
âweâll figure it out, okay?â
he wants to agree and believe that everything will be fine, but inside, something shifts. because if you ever find out the truthâif you ever remember the way his words felt that nightâhe knows he wonât fight you if you decide to leave. he wouldn't dare trap you with history you canât recall.
if you decide to walk away, heâll let you. because loving you this time means being willing to lose you, it's what you both deserveâfor opposite reasons.
youâre sitting across from him at the same restaurant from the polaroid.
there's the same intimately warm lighting, same ridiculously over-the-top chandeliers, and the same dramatically ornate decor that makes you feel like you shouldâve shown up in a ballgown instead of jeans.
satoruâs been subtly staring at you for the past five minutes, probably comparing this version of you to the one in the photo. you, meanwhile, are miserably staring at the menu containing all the delicious sounding foods you know you can't eat.
by doctorâs orders, youâre not supposed to eat anything heavy for the next few days. âlight foods. focus on greens. nothing irritating,â or something along the lines of that.
but if you have to suffer? satoruâs suffering with you.
you lower the menu slowly and peer at him over the top. âcâmonnn,â you pry sweetly, âbe a gentleman and order me a salad.â
âI already told you I canât do that!â
âwhy not?â
âthe waiterâs gonna think Iâm some misogynistic prick who wonât let his date eat carbs!â
you grin sadistically. âoh noo.. wouldn't that be tragic.â
he leans across the table, whisper-hissing, âyou donât understand. theyâll judge me. Iâll see it in their eyes. âwow, that poor woman. her asshole of a date is forcing her to consume leaves while he eats whatever he wants.ââ
the smile stays plastered on your face as you tap the menu thoughtfully, your mind already made.
âcome on, please." he begs, "at least order the salad with steak on the side or something.â
ânope,â you say brightly. âI want number twenty-eight. the 'vigorously-vegan-gargantuanly-green whole salad.'"
he blinks. ââŠyou're fucking with me. there's no way that's real option.â
âoh, it's real alright. and thats the one I want,â you reply confidently. âso order that one for me. please and thank you.â
âI hate you so much,â he groans, dragging a hand down his face. âyouâre just trying to make me look like an asshole in public.â
you lean back in your chair, pleased. âoh, absolutely. this is character development for you.â
âfor me?!â he whisper-shouts. âyou're really gonna make ask the waiter for some âvigorously vegan garganââ I canât even fucking pronounce it!â
âgargantuanly,â you correct helpfully.
âyou have to be joking.â
ânope.â
the waiter approaches at the worst possible moment, a sweet smile on her face as she gestures to your menus, âare we ready to order?â
you fold your hands politely in your lap and smile like an angel. the waiter looks at him, and he looks at you. at his continued silence, you raise your brows expectantly, beckoning him to order.
he inhales slowly, âum.. I'll take the steak. rare. and she..â he starts, visibly pained, âwould like theâthe.. number twenty eight..â
the waiter pauses for a second, turning to you, âma'am, is that what you'd really like? we value autonomy here.â she asks politely, clearly well-intentioned.
you have to stifle laugh to keep from losing it completely, "yes, yes. thank you. that's what I'd like today."
"right," she smiles, writing down the order onto her notepad, "excellent choice. we just like to make sure everyone at the table is heard," she states before walking towards the kitchen to put in the order.
the second sheâs out of earshot, you burst into raucous, unrestrained laughter. a sound he didn't realize until now he's missed hopelessly. his thoughts flit back to that photograph back at the apartment that you'd pointed out, the candid shot of you laughing during golden hour.
âyouâre so evil,â he mutters quietly, "you haven't changed at all."
your laughter doesn't die down fully, but just enough for you to breathe out, âIâm on a medically-mandated greens diet. this is the only joy I'll get out of it.â
and when your green goddess salad eventually arrives, you decide to screw the doctors orders anyway and eat half his steak.
heâs been sleeping alone on the couch for almost a week.
not that heâd ever try to force you to share the bedâyour memories of him only go as far as last week, after allâbut the coldness he feels at night without you pressed up against him is a physical ache, a hollowness he canât shake. the warmth he had taken for granted, the warmth he tore away with his own hands, now leaves him shivering miserably, even under layers of blankets.
then he hears a crash coming from your room, followed by a small, sharp cry.
heâs on his feet in an instant, panic lancing through him. his brain is reeling, subconsciously replaying the traumautic scene he'd endured last time he had to barge in on you in your bedroom.
âsweetheart?!â he blurts, the old nickname slipping out before he even realizes it, âIs everything okay? what happened??â
his already minimal patience vanishes completely. the door swings open before you can respond, and his chest tightens at the sight before him.
youâre sitting on the floor next to your bed, knees drawn to your chest, back pressed against the wood. you're trembling violently at the sight before you. the nightstand drawer is open in front of you, its contents scattered in a careless, frantic display.
and in your trembling handsâgripped tightlyâis the small half-empty bottle of pills you don't recognize.
his stomach drops out from under him, a free-falling pit that makes his head spin.
âsatoruâŠâ you whisper, voice trembling so much it shatters him. âwhat⊠what is all of this in my drawer? why⊠why is it here? why is it almost empty?â
fuck. fuckfuckfuck. he'd forgotten to throw all that shit out before you came home.
âyou⊠um,â he stammers, voice thick, âyou⊠you used to⊠we both used to be⊠I mean, I mean, I havenât touched anything since⊠since your accident. I promise. I swear I havenât.â
âmy accident..? what does my accident have to do withââ you cut yourself off, the dark realization hitting you like a ton of bricks.
oh god. the thought echoes in unison.
he hadnât meant to say that. not yet. not like this. but you've always been too perceptive, too painfully intuitive for him to hide anything.
ââŠsatoru,â you whisper again, voice barely audible, âwhatâwhat happenedâŠ? from the beginning. how⊠how did I even lose my memory?â
he freezes. every muscle in his body locks as if he's freefalling. there it is. the cliff. the edge. the moment heâs been trying to bury beneath layers of new memories and wishful thinking.
he could lie. He could say it was an accident. a slip. that it wasnât what it was. he could fabricate a story and maybeâmaybeâyou wouldnât hate him.
but the the guilt is rotting him from the inside. it's corroding his organs, how could he dare to do this to you and then take advantage of your lapse in memory to lie to you about it? he had to tell you the truth, it was the absolutely least he owed to you.
âŠ
âthat,â he croaks, pointing shakily at the bottle clutched inside your hand with his index, then his finger turns around and jabs at his own sternum, "and this." he whispers brokenly.
your brows furrow in fear, âwhat? what are you saying?â
he can barely breathe.
âit was me,â he rasps, tears slipping freely down his face now, âit was all my fault. I did this to youâ
your mind goes blank, and you can hardly comprehend the weight of his words. can hardly comprehend anything. everything he's done with you in the past week, the rehabilitation, the laughter, the outingsâwas it all just to conceal his sins? so he could feel less guilty about whatever he did to make you end up like this in the first placec?
he swallows hard. forces himself to breathe. lowers his voice until itâs a ragged whisper, almost a confession.
âI said things I shouldnât have,â he admits, eyes dropping to the floor. âI hurt you. I was drunk. I said⊠I said things I didnât mean.â
you absorb that quietly, letting the words slowly break your mind, ââŠand then?â
he canât. he canât say it. his jaw tightens until it aches, and his hands tremble like leaves in the wind.
âtell me what happened,â you demand, voice falsely steady but quivering deep underneath. âI deserve to know.â
he flinches at your tone, but obliges nonetheless, âI said terrible things to you,â he manages finally. âyou⊠you were scared, and I⊠I wasnât there when I should have been. when you locked yourself in here and saw that,â he gestures to the contents of your fingers, "and youâyou... fuckâ" his voice breaks, cracking around the syllables he can't seem to spit out.
you canât look at him. you canât. every fiber of you aches, a deep, hollow pain. you trusted him. you can't believe you trusted him. this strange man who was magically there when you woke up in the strange hospital and wouldn't leave your side since. the man who you've relearned your entire world through.
the man who turned out to have made you end up like this in the first place.
âI⊠I canât,â you whisper, shaking, your voice breaking under the strain. ââŠI need⊠I need spaceâŠâ
your eyes, full of something he canât nameâpain, distrust, fearâmeet his for a fraction of a second before you look away. the weight of the world feels like itâs on your shoulders, and with trembling hands, you gather your few belongings to prepare to leave.
he reaches out desperately, pleading for you to let him explain, but itâs too late. your footsteps echo as you leave. the last thing he hears is the cruel click of the door shutting between you.
and he slides down the wall, collapsing to the floorâtrembling, broken, all alone.
he'd told himself, over and over, that ifâwhen it came to this, he would let you go. that he wouldnât beg, wouldnât claw, wouldnât smother you with apologies or desperate pleas. he wouldn't try to gaslight you or guilt trip you into staying with him. he'd never make the mistake of sacrificing your happiness for his again. he promised himself that he would stand there, hollow-eyed, and watch you walk away if that was what you needed.
because heâs always known, deep down in the part of him he hides from even himself, that you deserved better. so much better than him. better than the man who snapped, who hurt you, who let your pain go unchecked because he was drowning in his own guilt. better than someone who could only love you imperfectly and destructively.
and as he sits there, hands trembling, staring at the closed door that now separates him from the only person who ever made him feel whole, a disturbing thought crosses his mind. that maybe letting you go was the only thing he could do to protect you from himself.
the apartment is silent. and silent it'll stay.
you didn't expect that losing a man you've known for only a week would destroy you this much. but then again, he's all you've known for the entirety of this new life, and technically, you've known him for so much longer. it was evident in your muscle memory, where amnesia couldn't touch. how your body would relax around him, melt into his embrace on the off occasions where he would hug you, how your muscles would loosen up at just the sound of his voice alone.
one week? yeah right.
you donât know how long youâve been walking. your feet carry you as you mindlessly shuffle around the city, but your mind is lost somewhere in a fog of betrayal. every echo of your own steps sounds like a countdownâtick, tick, tickâto some unavoidable doom.
for some odd reason, you feel like you've felt like this before. hopeless and bitter and betrayedâand did you always feel this claustrophobic?
the streetlights blur in your vision, melting into pools of yellow and gold. your amnesia-disoriented brain struggles to take in all of the scenery. for a second, you almost want to turn back, to run through that apartment door, to throw yourself at him and scream, donât leave me, you're all I have leftâall I know.
but the memory of his confession, the words he didnât meanâand even worseâthe ones he didâwraps around your chest like a vice. 'it was all my fault.' you can still hear his voice ringing in your head, trembling, broken, as the tears streaked down his face. a familiar wave of nausea rolls over you as the terrible memories replay like a broken record.
the warmth you felt in the past week, the gentle laughter, the soft reassurancesâtheyâre poisoned now. you canât unhear him. you canât unsee everything.
so you keep walking. you wander down unfamiliar streets, pass strangers ignorant of the storm brewing inside you. every light you pass is too bright, every shadow too dark. your chest burns with grief and guilt and disbelief. you realize that you might never feel safe in his arms again. that maybe youâthe you who woke up in that hospital bed, trusting him right off the batâmight be gone forever.
that life hadnât existed very long. but at least it had been yours.
and now it was gone too.
an insistent part of you still aches for himâa phantom tug beneath your ribs that confuses and terrifies you. it doesnât make sense to miss someone who hurt you. it doesnât make sense to crave the warmth of the same arms that pushed you toward this edge. but you do. you can only fool your mind, not your heart.
for the first time since you woke up, you were truly all alone.
you donât even realize how long youâve been walking until your steps slow on their own. something about the space around you feels⊠familiar. nothing since you've woken up has felt familiar, not even your own boyfriend, but now this does?
you close your eyes, digging through the fragments of your mindâand then it hits you.
the stupid photograph.
youâre standing in the middle of town square. right in front of the spot where satoru had taken that photo of youâthe candid one where youâre smiling at him like he hung the goddamn moon.
for a second, you canât breathe.
and then you start laughing.
it bubbles out of you explosively, wildly, the sound too loud, so sharp for the late hour and the brokenness of your mind. a couple walking past shoots you an uneasy glance. and someone across the street hesitates before hurrying along, but you couldn't give a fuck about them right now.
you probably look unhinged.
fuck, maybe you are.
because of course, of all the places in this entire city, you ended up here. like the universe decided you hadnât suffered quite enough and needed to serve you one last punch to the gut. one last reminder of the life you used to live with him.
fine then.
out of pure, exhausted spite, you drop your belongings to the pavement. if the universe wants to mock you, youâll fucking mock it right back. you sink down against the cool brick wall bordering the square, watching the fountain with exhausted, half-lidded eyes. the same place you once stood smiling. the same place that captured a beautiful moment you canât even remember feeling.
you pull your knees to your chest and rest your head back against the wall. let this cursed intersection be your bed tonight. let the rough, jagged edges of the brick dig into your spine, let the ghosts of who you were and who you almost became keep their vigil.
your eyelids grow heavy, and the fountain blurs. the lights smear into streaks of gold. and your consciousness slowly slips, slips, slipsâŠ
11:57 PM
he hates himself.
he told himself he wouldn't chase after you if you left.
and yetâŠ
he doesnât sleep. not really.
he sits on the couch with the lights off, elbows on his knees, staring at nothing. he's lost you, again. the first time already felt like his live-beating heart was being violently ripped out of his chest, but this time you've left intentionally,
you chose to leave him. and that destroyed him so much more.
worse even, you were out god-knows-where. all alone. did you even grab a jacket? did you check the weather? did you bring your medication? are you sitting somewhere cold? are you crying?areyousafe?areyouâ
by 5 a.m., heâs pacing.
by 6, heâs full on spiraling.
by 7, the sky outside the window has started to pale into that soft gray that comes before sunrise. it's almost morning, surely you should be back by now?
but if youâre stranded out there somewhere, alone, cold, potentially unsafeâŠ
heâs out the door before he even registers it, he checks his phone as he runs down the steps. no reply to the message he sent at 11:57 P.M last night. he cringes remembering it, but he meant every word. he would wait at that fountain all day if thatâs what it took, preparing to stay at the town square from the ass crack of dawn until midnight, if need be. but first he needs to search for you.
âthink,â he mutters to himself, dragging both palms down his face. âwhere would she go?â
you donât remember most places. but there are a handful of spots youâve reacted to with the subtle shifts in your expression. a random restaurant a few towns away. the beach down south. a hello kitty cafe in osaka. the town square. he opts for that first, since it was the only location in walking-distance proximity.
he doesn't even bother to start up his car, he runs.
the town square is quieter at at seven in the morning, but not empty. the fountain is still running, people are still bustling about, going to their early morning jobs or classes.
and there you remain. curled up against the brick wall like youâve folded in on yourself. bag at your side. head tilted slightly forward unconsciously, and you were completely still.
it takes satoru a few minutes, but when he sees your form on the ground, he thinks he's hallucinating at first, that surely his mind is playing tricks on him because there was absolutely no way you were actually here, sleeping on the goddamn concrete.
but there was no denying it. it had to be you sitting there. you were in the same outfit that you left in, and he'd recognize your faceâalbeit half slumped overâanywhere.
it was freezing out here, and you weren't moving. for one terrifying second, your drug-induced, crumpled form flashes across his mind, and satoru's heart stops.
not again.
not again, not again, notâ
heâs across the street in an instant. he couldn't give a flying fuck about traffic, someone honks and shouts at him, but he barely hears it. his entire being is dead set on making sure you were alive.
âheyâhey,â he breathes as he drops to his knees in front of you, hands hovering but not touching. âhey. loveââ
he cuts himself off this time. your face is pale under the streetlights. lashes resting peacefully against your cheeks. but your chest rises and falls, though slower than he'd prefer.
you were just sleeping. just sleeping. it's okay. you're okay.
he presses a shaking hand over his mouth and bows his head for a second, collecting himself. his whole body feels like itâs vibrating from the adrenaline crash.
âyouâre gonna give me a goddamn heart attack one day,â he whispers hoarsely to your unconscious form. âyou know that?"
carefully, he shrugs off his coat and drapes it gently over your shoulders like a makeshift blanket. his fingers brush your arm, and even through the fabric, he feels how cold you are.
his jaw tightens. of all the places you could have slept, you chose here?
âIâm so sorry,â he murmurs quietly, barely audible over the rushing of the fountain, not daring to wake you. âfor all of it. for before. for now. I don't even know what I could possibly do to begin atoning for all the suffering I've put you through, but I'm sorry.â
he doesnât attempt to wake you. instead, he sits down on the cold pavement across from you, back against the opposite wall. he keeps his distance from your unconscious formâyou asked for space, after all, so he gives itâeven here.
but he stays. diligently watching over you and trying his hardest to keep himself from touching you.
after two hours of waiting, you finally open your eyes. blearily taking in your surroundings as the events from the previous day crash into you in full force. your eyelids flutter as you squint against the light, disoriented. it takes a second for your gaze to focusâand when it lands on him, your face immediately falls.
you sit up slowly, wincing. âyou followed me?â
he shakes his head, heart feeling like it's beating out of his chest, âI didnât know you were here.. I just⊠found you by accident.â
âlike hell you did," you bite out, "you definitely hooked my phone up with some tracking shit."
he winces, "what? noâno. check it. I swear to you."
you roll your eyes but reluctantly pull out your phone anyway, tapping in the password as the firstâhuge text of a notification pops up.
you read it once, then twice. he wonders what's taking you so longâmomentarily forgetting all about the text, but then you stare at him, then down at the text, then up at him again. and suddenly your eyes well up with tears.
his face morphs into one of absolute horror, âshitâ shit, no, donâtâIâm sorry,â he scrambles, panic flaring. âpretend you didnât read it, okay? I shouldnât have sent it. I was out of lineââ
âyouâ you idiotâŠâ you choke out as you push yourself shakily to your feet, fists clenched around your phone. âyou said youâd wait here whether I came or not,â you whisper, voice breaking. âyou were really going to sit here all day?"
âwell.. yeah? that's like.. the absolute least I could do,â he says quietly.
âyou think that fixes it?â you demand. âyou think punishing yourself fixes what happened?â
ââŠ. no.â
âthen why do you keep acting like hurting yourself makes you noble?!â
âwhy? because all Iâve ever done is hurt you, okay?!â he finally explodes, the words ripping out of him raw and broken. his hands fist in his hair like heâs trying to physically tear the thoughts out of his head. âI always fuck everything up,â he chokes. âevery time. I say shit I dont mean, I do shit I can't take backâand youâre the one who always ends up paying for my recklessness.â
his chest rises sharply, like he canât pull enough air in. âyou have no fucking idea how I felt when I saw you right after your accident.â he laughs sharply, a hollow, disgusted sound. âyou were so still. so fucking still. and I remember thinkingâthis is it. this is the ultimate consequence. this is what I did. I thought I killed you.â
his throat works like heâs trying not to be sick. âyou might not remember it. shit, maybe youâre lucky you donât. because I do. I remember all of it. and itâs the only goddamn thing thatâs been replaying in my head every. fucking. second.â he continues, like he'll never be able to speak again if he stops, âI wake up and I see you lying there. I close my eyes and I see you lying there. I try to laugh with you and I fucking see you lying there."
he gasps out a sob before continuing, "I stood next to your hospital bed and I realized I'd broken the only person who ever loved me without conditions. I wouldâve traded places with you in a heartbeat. I prayed for it. begged for it. I wouldâve taken the memory loss and the hospital bed and the pain. anything.â
his eyes finally meet yours, âbut then you woke up, and you were so goddamn sweet and forgiving. and I justâI got selfish again. I wanted to keep you in my life, even when I knew I could never give you everything you deserve. I'm a monster, I know. I'm a lesser man than you think I am, sweetheart. I justâ" he sighs, "Iâm not trying to redeem myself. Iâm just trying to make sure you survive me.â
your shoulders shake with the pressure of your sobs, âbut I donât want to survive you,â you cry softly. âI want to love you, is that so hard to wrap your mind around?â
"IâI⊠what?"
the confusion on his face would almost be funny if you werenât falling apart piece by piece in front of him.
âI donât want you to hate yourself,â you whisper, stepping closer despite everything in your body that still aches. âeven if I canât remember who I used to be, I know one thing for sure. that I have never wanted you to feel like this.â
all he can do is stare at you stupidly.
âyouâre not a.. a.. curse, satoru, youâre not something I need protection from. so stop acting like loving you is some kind of death row sentence.â
his breathing stutters, "I-I'm sorrâ"
âand stop fucking apologizing,â you interrupt, âtake all that energy you waste on hating yourself and put it into loving me.â
â⊠you donât remember what I did,â he argues weakly, âyou donât remember how bad it got.â
âexactly. I dont remember. if the universe itself is literally giving you a chance to restart, why are you so adamant on punishing yourself?â
âI..I don't know. I'm just so scared of hurting you again,â he admits.
âIâm scared too, but it's okay, we'll figure it out, yeah? just like how we agreed on before.â you whisper.
he steps closer, closing the fragile distance between you. âyou're right. I hate how you're always right,â he breathes, forehead almost touching yours, âIâll go to therapy. Iâll quit drinkingâall my bad habits. Iâll do whatever it takes."
tentatively, he lifts his hand, hovering it near your face. he gives you time to pull away, and when you donât, his fingers brush your cheek, his thumb trembling as it wipes away a tear.
then he kisses you.
your handy muscle memory kicks in after a half second, responding back to his mouth just as eagerly. his lips are warm despite the cold morning air and his hand cups your face more firmly now, the other settling at your waist, pulling you just close enough to feel the frantic rhythm of his heart against yours.
the moment he deepens the kiss, something more than just muscle memory cracks alive inside you. it isnât a full memory at first. it starts off as a sensation. warmthâhis warmth. laughter. his hand in yours âa blurry feeling that snaps your gaze down to your hand currently. it's clutched around nothing. your breath catches against his mouth. then suddenly, a flash.
youâre in the kitchen making your morning teas in your favourite mugs. heâs standing behind you, arms wrapped around your waist while you're failing miserably at pretending to be annoyed. heâs pressing ridiculous kisses to your neck and youâre laughing hysterically, telling him to stop because it tickles.
another flash.
that fountain. the one behind you now. youâre laughing at him while he fumbles with his digital camera, teasing him for taking so long. you look away for just a moment, pointing out a bird in the sky while laughing.
snap. the photo. snap. another memory.
youâre lying sick in bed, your head on his chest, tracing lazy circles over his heartbeat. heâs half-asleep, mumbling something about how he'll buy you more tylenol in the morning, for now you could just pass on the sickness' virus to him and he'd deal with it.
your body jolts back to the present and the kiss falters.
satoru pulls back instantly, panic flashing across his face. âfuck. did Iâdid I hurt you?â
but youâre not looking at him like you were a few minutes ago. your hand lifts slowly to his faceâthumb brushing his cheek like youâve done it a hundred times before. and you have done it hundreds of time before, you can't even comprehend how you couldn't remember it. how on earth could you forget him? it feels so natural remembering him, like the memory of him was always there but you're just now realizing it.
âsatoruâŠâ
he freezes, âyes, love?â
your knees nearly give out before you can get anything out. he catches you instinctively, mind racing through all the possibilities that could be going on right now. what was up with you all of a sudden?
âyouââ your voice breaks, ââI remember. I remember you.â
oh.
oh.
he looks like heâs about to shatter on the spot. your fingers fist in his shirt as you kiss him againâharder this time, like youâre trying to chase the rest of the memories downâand it seems to be working, you can vividly feel all of the forgotten scenarios assaulting your brain.
him twirling you in the living room to your favourite songs.
him laying down next to you in bed after a night of intimacy, softly whispering reassurances into your hair.
him taking care of you after you get high as a kite.
him being your lifeline. saving you from drowning during the darkest days of your life.
you pull back, breathing unevenly. âI rememberâŠ!â you laugh, "can you believe it? just a few minutes ago IâI⊠I dont remember everthing, but its enough. more than enough"
he searches your face desperately like heâs afraid this is a dream, like this is another twisted joke as cruel as you losing your memory in the first place.
âyou loved me,â you say softly, shocking him out of his reverie.
his eyes fill to the brim with tears instantly.
âI love you,â he corrects, voice breaking.
he pulls you back in, and the next kiss you share feels like home. like coming back to a place your body never truly forgotâeven when your mind did.
a/n ; thank you so much for reading guys! sorry for taking so long on this part I was just in a tight academic crunch and totally not procrastinating. hope you all enjoyed :)
for those out there who feel like their dissociation 'isn't enough' and feel like they're faking because of it, hey. maybe it's because you lived your entire life with this experience and got too used to it. but here's the thing, dissociation isn't just 'suddenly blacking out and having no memory of the entire past day' no matter how much its painted as that. not all dissociation is sharp and obvious.
forgetting passwords, forgetting names and people, forgetting your dreams, having too vivid dreams, insomnia, brain fog, face blindness, remembering your days like a blur, struggling to remember your schedule, school/work day gone too fast, forgetting to eat, forgetting to drink, derealization, depersonalization can all be caused by dissociation. i know its hard to accept but it is, just because you don't black out doesn't mean you don't dissociate; if you sit on your computer stopping for a second doubting your password or if you wake up feeling like that was a trainwreck of a dream then suddenly it stops being visible is caused by dissociation. if you're awake, looking around but having the feeling that something with the existence of the surroundings is wrong is also dissociation. if you suddenly remember that you forgot to eat that day, that you forgot to drink that day, the time is 3 am and even though you never blacked out and you were always there, is still dissociation.
if you grew too used to constantly living these little things, then you are probably ignoring your symptoms. so please stop the doubting. you're not fake, your dissociation is real, your amnesia is real and you are not lying. please remember this. you are a system, and it's okay to dissociate. it's not your fault.
