#amgst

Wind was laying in the same position Wild had left him in. Wild registered this before anything else. That Wind had not shifted position at all during the time assuaged Wild’s fears that Wind might have been awake at some point during the process. 

Wild sent up a silent prayer of thanks to the gods that Wind had been spared that torture. 

(A deep-seated fear that Wild had held for years suddenly eased. To know that people put into the Shrine weren’t conscious for any part of the process? That he hadn’t been conscious for any part of it? It was a bone-deep relief.)

The second thing Wild noticed was the liquid Wind was completely submerged in. A clear gel-like substance filled the basin nearly to the rim. Wind’s hair was floating around his head freely, making him look angelic in the fading teal glow.

This part, Wild did remember. Or at least, he remembered being strangely wet after he left the Shrine. He did not recall ever being submerged in… whatever this was, though. 

That was probably for the best.

The third thing Wild noticed in as many seconds was the fresh scar that decorated the pirate’s throat. It made hope surge through him. If the Shrine had healed Wind, then it had worked, right? Wind must be alive.

Despite his hope, Wild didn’t feel any relief. He knew he wouldn’t be able to relax until he saw Wind moving and breathing, at least. Suddenly, there was a presence pushing in close to Wild at the Shrine’s edge. 

It was Sky, making alarmed noises and reaching towards Wind. From Sky’s point of view, it must be distressing to see Wind, who they’d hopefully just gotten back from the dead, submerged like that. Wild could understand his panic, but he didn’t want to know what might happen if the process was disturbed.

With the largest movement he’d made in days, Wild forcefully smacked Sky’s hands away. Sky looked even more distressed by this, but seemed to trust Wild. He wrung his hands anxiously, shifting from foot to foot like he wasn’t sure what to do.

Wild ignored him.

In the precious few moments Wild had before Wind hopefully stirred back to life, he hauled himself to his feet. Immediately, his legs went numb, pins and needles setting in from sitting on the hard floor for days on end.

He leaned forward over the edge of the basin, gripping the ledge and keeping himself upright mostly through the use of his arms.

Once the lid of the shrine had risen as far as it would, the liquid began draining out of the basin. Wild didn’t know where it was going- since it thankfully wasn’t draining onto the floor- but he didn’t care. 

As the liquid drained, Wind seemed to settle to the bottom of the basin more completely, hair slicking down to his head. He no longer looked like he’d been suspended in time.

Everything stilled. It seemed like the world was paralyzed as they waited for Wind to take a breath. Wild frowned, panic starting to grow again. He clutched at the edge of the Shrine so tightly his knuckles turned white.

“W-” Wild wasn't even able to say Wind’s name, voice cracking on the first word he’d spoken in days. From beside him, Sky released a shuddering breath. Wild felt Sky’s hand clasp his upper arm tightly, not in a bid for attention, but rather to offer support for both Sky and Wild. He paid Sky no attention, his mind fixed solely on Wind. 

Wild cleared his throat and went to try speaking again, but this time he stopped himself from speaking the nickname that had been given to the sailor. Wind might not remember that “Wind” had ever been his name. It would be better to use the name-

“Link.” Wild’s voice was rough and quiet, as soft as he could manage with an unused voice. “Link, you have to wake up.” He echoed what Zelda had said to him when he had woken from the Shrine. It had worked to get Wild to wake up, at least.

Finally, finally, the sailor breathed. It was a stuttering breath, shallow and weak like his lungs were unused to breathing after having spent so long unmoving. And then he took another breath, and another. 

Wind was breathing. 

Wind was alive.

The hand on Wild’s arm loosened from its vice grip as Sky went slack in utter relief, burying his face in his hands and letting out a heartbroken sound of relief. Wild could feel no joy at the sailor’s resurrection. Not yet. There was still the question of whether the boy remembered anything.

If Wind had been brought back to life, only to be a blank slate, Wild would never forgive himself for condemning Wind to that. Even if the Shrine had taken his memories of Wild and the rest of the heroes, as long as Wind remembered his family, Wild could live with himself.

Wind’s eyelids fluttered, but he did not open them, squeezing them shut against the light and liquid that still pooled on his face. His features no longer held the peace of someone in deep sleep, but rather the irritation of someone desperately trying to cling to the last dredges of oblivion as they were woken by the morning sun. 

Unrelenting, Wild spoke again, not giving Wind any chance to return to that oblivion he had just come from. “Link, open your eyes.” His voice carried the weight of a command this time. He was serious, the softness in his voice gone. It was an order, one Wind wouldn’t have refused in normal circumstances, too used to receiving commands from the older heroes during battle to refuse them when they spoke so seriously. 

The sailor didn’t refuse the order now. His lashes fluttered as Wind opened his eyes. He squinted against the dim light in the Shrine and gazed up at the two figures looming above him. 

Wind shifted, but his movements were weak, like he was too disoriented to move. Or maybe he was simply unwilling to, instead longing to slip back into peaceful darkness. 

Wild started to reach out to help the sailor sit up, but he hesitated before he actually touched him. 

Should he help the sailor sit up? No one had been there to help him when he had emerged from the shrine. He had hazy memories of struggling alone in those first hours, disoriented and shaky. What if touching Wind hurt him or broke something the shrine had only just fixed?

Wild was suddenly, ridiculously, reminded of baby birds. They had to struggle to break out of their egg, and if that process was interrupted, even with the best of intentions, that could lead to a chick being too weak to survive. 

But then again, didn’t Wild wish that there had been someone to help him when he had been reborn? And anyway, Wind wasn’t a baby bird. He wouldn’t break or get sick if Wild touched him.

Probably.

Wild ignored his doubts and reached down, sliding a hand under Wind’s shoulder, helping the sailor sit up fully. He shivered at the slick residue left on Wind’s skin that squished under his fingers, but didn’t draw away.

Wind swayed back and forth, seemingly unable to sit up straight. Wild’s hand on Wind’s shoulder was the only thing keeping him from tipping over. Wind’s eyes remained glazed, fixed off in the distance and clearly not seeing anything in front of him.

Bit by bit, Wind seemed to come back to himself. Slowly, as if trapped in a dream, Wind turned to look at the pressure on his shoulder which was keeping him upright. His gaze landed on Wild’s hand, then slowly, slowly his gaze followed the line of his arms up to his shoulder, then his face, until his eyes finally met Wild’s.

Wild didn’t realize he wasn’t breathing until Wind’s blue eyes met his own, and recognition sparked in the sailor’s gaze. Then Wind spoke, his voice rusty and creaking like an old barn door that hadn’t been oiled in a hundred years. The sailor spoke, confusion filling his tone but recognizing him, and- 

“Wild?” 

The breath Wild had been holding in escaped in a rush, and he couldn’t stop himself from nearly tackling Wind in a hug. Relief flooded him, the bone-deep anxiety that had haunted him the last few days finally dissipated.

Wind recognized him. Wind recognized him! He hadn’t lost all his memories! 

Oh, thank you, Hylia!

That meant that, at the very least, Wind remembered up to the beginning of their journey together, which meant he hadn’t forgotten his family. Even if Wind couldn’t recall the majority of the time the group of heroes had spent together, he would remember his little sister, his grandmother, and all his friends from back home. 

Distantly, Wild heard a strangled, choked noise he vaguely recognized as coming from himself. He found himself unable to answer Wind. What would he even say?

Instead, he helped Wind shift to sit on the edge of the Shrine’s basin. Wild’s grip nearly failed, his hands slipping on Wind’s slick skin, but he was able to adjust his grip and stop the sailor from tumbling over.

He still couldn’t find the right words. The only thing he could think to do was hug the younger hero, so that was what he did. Wind had always been one of the more tactile members of the group, and that didn’t seem to have changed. Wind leaned into his embrace, letting Wild support all his weight.

“Wild, I feel bad.” The sailor’s voice was muffled into Wild’s shoulder, miserable and small in a way Wild had never heard him sound before.

“I know,” Wild said, voice cracking. “I know. I’m sorry. I’m-” He cut himself off. What could he even say? 

Wind finally moved again, bringing his arms up to grasp at the back of Wild’s tunic, finally having enough energy to return Wild’s hug.

Time seemed to slip away from Wild after that. He had no idea how long he sat there, perched uncomfortably on the edge of the shrine with Wind halfway in his lap. He could feel the haze that had hovered over his mind for the last few days fighting to return. 

Suddenly, there were hands on his shoulders that were too big to be Wind’s, and Wild was dragged away from the smaller Link. He wanted to stay there curled around Wind as long as the sailor would let him, but was too weak to fight the hands on his shoulders. The days he’d spent kneeling in front of the Shrine with little food and even less sleep were catching up to him, leaving him unable to resist the hands pulling him away. 

Only once he was separated from the sailor did Wild realize that the kid had been shaking in his hold, scrabbling at his arms and leaving red marks where his nails dug into Wild’s arms. He couldn't tell whether Wind had been trying to hold Wild closer or push him away. 

The boy was cradled in Twilight’s arms now, who had seemingly appeared out of nowhere to take Wild's place supporting Wind. Wind was still flailing, limbs twitching as if they were out of his control.

Wild speared a moment’s glance backwards to see who was holding him, seeing Time's face. The old man looked more stressed than Wild had ever seen him, but Wild didn’t spend too much time looking at him. His attention was drawn back to the Sailor when he gave a strangled whine of Wild’s name.

Wild went to reach out in response, but was gently but firmly held back by Time. “Wait,” The old man ordered quietly from behind him. "Twilight's checking him over, making sure everything is… alright.”

Twilight’s hands were gentle as he maneuvered Wind this way and that to inspect every inch of him. He avoided Wind's failing limbs easily, like he was handling a newborn lamb, and not a boy who had just come back to life. 

It took longer than Wild would have liked for Twilight to be satisfied. Time held him firmly but not unkindly the whole time, only releasing him when Twilight admitted Wind looked fine.

Wild leaned forward and didn’t hesitate to take Wind back from Twilight. Wind’s gaze focused on Wild’s face, and he went willingly. His twitching slowed down now that he was back in Wild’s arms.

Hesitantly, Wind’s eyes left Wild’s face, and traveled to take in their surroundings. His gaze drifted to the glowing Sheikah patterns carved into the walls of the Shrine, then to the open doorway that led out into the fading daylight.

Wild waited, but Wind didn't ask any questions, so Wild tried to fill in the gaps for him, help him reorient himself. “We’re on the Great Plateau,” he offers. “My era.” 

Wild didn’t know if Wind really understood, but the sailor didn't ask any questions. Instead, he just continued to shiver. One particularly hard shiver that racked his body was so strong it almost sent him falling right back into the Shrine. Wild tightened his grip on him immediately.

“Easy,” he murmured. “You’re alright.” Wind didn’t respond. His teeth started to chatter now, more tremors traveling down his arms.

“C’mon,” Wild encouraged gently, knowing they couldn’t sit here forever, no matter how much he sort of wanted to.

Wild carefully helped Wind to his feet again. The sailor swayed dangerously for a moment, and Wild quickly slipped an arm around his waist before he could topple over. Wind leaned heavily into him without protest. Sky, Twilight, and Time hovered nearby, waiting to catch them if either of them slipped. Wild spared half a thought to wondering where the other heroes were, but put it out of his mind for now. 

Making their way out of the shrine was painfully slow.

Wind’s legs barely seem to remember how to move, and more than once Wild has to catch his weight when his knees buckle without warning. Each stumble sent a spike of panic through Wild’s chest, even though he knew that Wind wasn't injured anymore.

The ledge at the edge of the shrine posed even more of an obstacle. This just further solidified Wild’s opinion that he hadn’t been in as bad a state as Wind was when he’d left the shrine. Even with his low stamina, climbing the ledge hadn’t been an issue. Wind, on the other hand, clearly wouldn’t be able to scale it by himself. Sky and Twilight take over, carefully hoisting Wind up and then lending Wild a helping hand. 

Once they’re both on solid ground again, Wind got passed right back into Wild’s arms. It seemed like now that they've assured themselves that the Shrine really did work and Wind was no longer injured, they were more than happy to let Wild handle the young hero.

It made sense. Wild was the only one who had any experience with this. The only thing that’s strange was that no one was asking questions. It was a relief, of course. Wild wanted to have all his focus solely on Wind, not having to split his attention between him and the questions of the other heroes, but it was strange nonetheless. The heroes would’ve had a while to formulate questions about what had happened during the battle that had left Wind in the Shrine and Wild in a nearly catatonic state.

The sky was dimming as the sun sank towards the horizon, turning the cloud-filled sky a stunning orange. The evening air outside the cave was cool, and the wind that blew across the Plateau carried the distant scent of rain.

Great, a storm was just what they needed, Wild thought with exasperation.

The others direct the two of them down toward the temple of time. Wild stopped them at a place where the slope down to the lake near the temple was gentle enough that he could guide Wind down it without too much trouble. 

“Need to get him cleaned up,” he offered the other three as a short explanation. 

To Wind, he warned. “This is gonna be cold.” Wind only blinked up at him in response. 

Wild guided him into the water, sitting him down on a boulder that rested sitting in the shallows of the pond. Wind let Wild guide him without protest, slumping down where he was placed, but at least able to hold himself upright now.

They would need to be quick. They’d have time for a more thorough wash later, but Wild wanted to be under shelter before the rain hit. 

Carefully, he began scooping up handfuls of water, letting it slowly spill over Wind’s shoulders to rinse the Shrine's goo from Wind’s skin. The stuff was stubborn, clinging like syrup, and it took several handfuls of water before it started to wash away properly. Wind shivered harder as the cold water ran over him, his shoulders curling inward instinctively.

“Sorry,” Wild murmured, steadying him again.

Wind only shook his head at Wild's apology, but didn’t speak. He’d been unnaturally silent since they left the shrine. Besides his initial cries for Wild, he hadn’t said anything yet.

As Wild continued rinsing the goo away, he got a close-up look at Wind’s new scars. 

The scar across Wind’s throat was the first one Wild noticed. It was a stark white that stood out boldly against Wind’s tan skin, jagged where the bokoblin’s teeth had torn through skin and muscle. It had been healed perfectly by the Shrine’s magic, but the shape of it was unmistakable.

Wild swallowed down his grief and kept working.

When he moved to rinse Wind’s chest, another scar came into view. This one stretched diagonally across the sailor’s torso, running from one shoulder down across his ribs where the bokoblin’s axe had struck.

Wild forced himself to finish rinsing the majority of the goo away before his thoughts could spiral any further. When he finally finished and looked up again, Sky and Twilight had disappeared, and Hyrule had joined Time at the edge of the pond, carrying a neatly folded pile of clothing.

The traveler hadn’t approached the two in the water, instead lingering a respectful distance away while the two of them finished washing, waiting until Wild helped Wind out of the pond to move closer.

Hyrule handed Wild the clothes, and he helped Wind get dressed. Wind’s movements were clumsy and slow, his fingers fumbling with the unfamiliar fabric until Wild gently took over, guiding his arms through the arm holes

Once Wind was fully dressed, Hyrule finally spoke. “There’s some food at camp,” he says softly, gesturing towards the temple. 

The walk to the temple was even slower than the trip to the pond. By the time they reached where the others had set up camp, night had nearly fallen.

The blazing fire cast warm orange light across the campsite, illuminating the other heroes. Everyone Wild hadn’t seen since the shrine had opened was there. The murmurs of the others’ nervous conversations stopped as they approached. No one rushed forward to greet them, but Wild could feel every one of them watching carefully.

Someone had arranged a nest of blankets up against one of the few remaining intact walls of the temple, close to the fire. Wild beelined it over to it, and no one protested when he helped Wind sit down, so he figured they must have set it up for him. 

Wild settled down too, immediately pulling Wind to lean against him. He’s not willing to leave the sailor’s side quite yet.

Now that he was somewhat clean, fully clothed, and near the fire, Wind’s violent shaking slowly began to ease. His breathing steadied as warmth seeped back into his body.

Hyrule passed Wild a bowl filled with a thin broth that would be easy on the stomach. It was still warm, freshly ladled out of the pot sitting near the fire.

Instead of eating himself, Wild turned and started to feed Wind slowly, one careful sip at a time. Wind didn’t complain at the treatment, remaining quiet as the grave. 

By the time the bowl was empty and handed back to Hyrule, the first drops of rain had begun to fall. Within minutes, the storm swept across the Plateau, bringing with it heavy rain and cool air. Wind pressed closer to Wild as thunder rolled somewhere in the distance. Wild guided them to lay down in the pile of blankets, pulling one of them over Wind to protect him from the chill. 

The others pulled their cloaks tighter and endured the rain that seeped through the broken ceiling of the temple. No one complained about the rain like they usually would, and no one moved to try and squeeze under the intact roof where the two of them were sitting. 

The rain hammered against the plateau, drumming on stone and soaking the forest below. Lightning flashed somewhere far off, illuminating the camp for a brief instant before plunging them back into relative darkness.

The rain continued to fall, and Wind curled closer into Wild’s chest, clearly unable to get comfortable. Eventually, the sailor begins to cry. He sniffled quietly against Wild’s chest, fingers twisting in the fabric of his borrowed tunic.

“Wild.” It was the first thing Wind had said since he’d first woken up, and instantly, every eye was trained on them. Wild paid the other heroes no mind, focusing on the boy who was basically sitting in his lap.

Wind took a shaky breath, as if bracing himself. “It hurts.” His voice was still rough. Wind spoke slowly, clearly forcing his words out through gritted teeth to keep himself from stuttering. The worry suddenly struck Wild that Wind might have suffered enough trauma to his neck that the shrine couldn’t heal it completely. He hoped it was a temporary thing.

“The pain will fade,” Wild says, in what he hopes is comfort. “You get used to it.”

“Which?” Wind asked, voice still just as hoarse. “Will it fade or will I just get used to it?”

Wild hesitated, trying to ignore the pain that had been radiating down his side from his own death wounds. He swallowed and continued, forcing the words out slowly. “Some of it will fade. Some of it won’t,” Wild said, choosing his words carefully to try to impart some small comfort to Wind without lying to him. “You learn how to live around it. Just like the pain from any other kind of wound.”

“Any other kind of wound?” Wind mumbled shakily, clearly not completely understanding. But he didn’t press further, and Wild didn’t want to offer up the information that Wind had died. The sailor hadn’t shown any signs of remembering what had happened to him, and Wild didn’t want to be the one to jog his memory. 

The rain softened to a steady patter as the heart of the storm drifted farther east. The fire crackled and warm light flickered across the stone roof of the other hang. No one interrupted the silence. The quiet lasted for so long, with Wind’s breathing coming slow and even against Wild’s shoulder, that he thought the sailor had managed to fall asleep, 

At some point, Wild heard the hollow clacking of bones of an approaching stal monster and tensed. Warriors stood without a word. The captain walked out into the storm with his sword already drawn. The furious look on his face made Wild almost feel sorry for the monster. He got the impression that Warriors would be taking all his frustration over the situation out on whatever stal creature had dared try to impose on their camp. No one else even bothered to go with him, so Wild figured this must have been a regular occurrence while he had been in the Shrine.

Eventually, Wind stirred again.

“Wild?” he slurred. “I don’t remember what happened. Last I remember, we were in Skyloft, and now we're here, and- and something… bad happened, didn’t it?” Wind continued before anyone could answer. “I can tell something’s wrong. Something’s really wrong.”

Wild opened his mouth, but the words stuck in his throat.

Wind tilted his head back slightly to look at him. His blue eyes were tired but clear. Wild looked away, not meeting his gaze, the words feeling impossible to speak aloud.

Ultimately, it was Time who had to tell Wind what had happened. The ild man leaned forward from where he was sitting across the fire. His scarred face was calm but shadowed with grief in the firelight.

“You died. The Shrine of Resurrection brought you back, just like it did for Wild,” he said gently. The words hung in the air. Wild felt Wind go very still in his arms.

“…Oh,” was all he said. After a moment, Wind let go of his death grip on Wild's tunic to move one shaky hand to his throat, touching the rough skin of his new scars. 

“That explains…” he murmured faintly. He didn’t finish his thought, but his meaning was clear.

“I’m so sorry.” The words tore out of Wild before he could stop them. “I told everyone the Plateau was safe. I told them the monsters were weak. I was supposed to be watching your back and I-”His voice broke before he recovered his resolve. “I found you too late.” 

By the end, his voice was barely above a whisper as he whispered his apology into Wind’s hair. He didn’t know how he could ever truly express his regret. His actions had resulted in Wind’s death. Even though he didn’t stay dead, he was still hurt in a way that would follow him for the rest of his life. Those scars would never leave him, and if he ever did regain the memory of his death, Wild knew from personal experience that it would haunt him.

He knew the others were listening intently as they spoke, trying to glean any information they could about what had happened from Wild’s words. They still didn’t know what had happened, having only found Wild at the Shrine when all was said and done. 

Wind obviously didn’t remember exactly what happened either. Wild hoped it would stay that way. He didn’t want Wind to remember the pain of his death. For a split second, he was ridiculously glad the shrine took away part of your memory. Having to remember that you died when you were in such a fragile state couldn’t be good for you. Wild still wasn’t happy the shrine had taken all his memories, but not remembering his death when he’d first left the Shrine was probably a good thing.

“Not your fault,” Wind said, voice growing quieter by the moment. Wild decided now wasn't the time to try to drown in his own guilt, so he didn’t argue the point. 

Wind’s eyelids fluttered closed for a second before opening again. His head drooped again like the effort of staying upright was exhausting him. Wild recognized the feeling. The Shrine takes more out of you than it gives back at first. When he had first crawled out of the Shrine, his stamina had been drained by every little thing.

“…I’m really tired,” Wind mumbled.

“You will be for a while,” Wild responded.

Wind shifted closer, curling into the blankets and against Wild’s side. “Wake me up if I die again,” he murmured sleepily. 

Wild lets out a slightly hysterical laugh. “Sure thing.”

Wind’s breathing evened out not long after. The other heroes slowly relaxed around the fire. No one spoke for a while, not wanting to break the silence.

Finally, Sky leaned back against the stone wall and looked towards the goddess statue that loomed at the other end of the temple. “The Shrine worked,” he said quietly. He didn't sound surprised, exactly. Wild supposed that he himself was proof enough that the Shrine worked just fine. But he sounded maybe a little amazed. 

The statement kicked off a flurry of hushed conversation between the other heroes. Wild sat there, tuning out the hushed conversations that broke out between his fellows. He simply held Wind as the sailor slept, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing.

Roger had promised to see to see you tomorrow, but tomorrow never came. You had caught yourself during your morning medicine routine looking around for him. You weren’t sure why you were excited to see him again, but you were. For that whole day you had asked everyone if he had shown up. They gave you the same answer each time. You figured the man must’ve gotten busy that day. You distracted yourself with sleep and xrays. You would lie in bed and close your eyes, trying to remember anything about your past. Trying to remember the people that had been in your room and Roger, but it was no use. It was like a black hole in your mind. What was once there was now gone. You eventually gave up after being frustrated. Maybe he would show up tomorrow.

But he doesn’t. All day passes and there’s no sign of the blonde man. Max visits, but it doesn’t feel the same for some reason. You hope the same for the next day, but no. Then the next day passes and the next. And suddenly it’s been a week and he still hasn’t shown up. You’ve just assumed he's forgotten about you and has moved on. I mean you couldn’t remember this so called boyfriend of yours, why would he want to stick around? For some reason it made you sad and you still weren’t sure why. You didn’t even know him. You began focusing on purely your health and your road to recovery. You took your medicine on time, did your physical therapy every day and rested like you were supposed to. A week of healing was finally over and the doctors all gave you the ok to leave and go home. Your stitches from your spleen surgery were healed and a bright pink cast was now covering your broken arm. You felt more alive than you have in a while.

You were sat up and had just changed back into normal clothes having already signed your release papers. A nurse was helping you tie your shoes when there’s a slight knock at the door.

“Come in!” you call out.

It creaks open and in walks Max. He’s carrying a bouquet of flowers and he grins at you. The bruising on your face has went down significantly and you can now see out of your one eye. The nurse stands up and begins messing with the equipment in the room. You smile to Max and slowly stand to your feet. You hiss at the soreness in your ribs, but it passes. Max quickly rushes to you and grabs your arm, helping to sturdy you.

“Thank you.” you say quietly.

“You look so amazing.” says Max, slowly handing you the flowers.

You blush at his compliment and look down as you take them.

“You have to say that. I almost died.” you say joking, which makes Max laugh.

He takes a step closer to you, not taking his eyes off of you.

“So I was thinking I could give you a ride home. Maybe get you some proper food.” he says, glancing over to the cafeteria tray.

You laugh and look back at it as well. You slowly nod.

“Yeah, you know-” you go to say, but are interrupted when there’s another knock at your door.

The two of you turn to stare at it as it opens up. In walks Roger. Your eyes slightly open wide at his sudden appearance. He looks nervous and has flowers in his hand. He runs his fingers through his hair and stares at you. He tenses his jaw and awkwardly smiles. He knows that he had promised to see you, but didn't. He had been too nervous to come back. He was scared that you’d remember and know he’s lying. He hated lying to your face, so he decided to stay away and let you heal, even though he missed you like crazy.

Roger glances over to Max and his smile lightly falls. The tension in the room was thick and you could feel it. Max stands closer to you as Roger hands you the flowers. You smile and take them.

“I’m, uh, sorry for not being here like I said I would be. Stuff with the band came up and I got so busy. Which isn’t a good enough excuse, so I’m really s-”

“Roger,” you say his name and he melts at the sound of it. “It’s fine. I don’t know you, so it’s okay. Max was here, I wasn’t by myself.”

He looks to Max and watches as the man smirks down at you then to him. Roger narrows his eyes and forces a smile.

“Well thank you for being here, Max, but I’m here now, so…” says Roger, his words lingering.

Max raises a brow and looks down at you confused. You look just as confused.

“I’m actually being released today.” you say. “You don’t have to stay. I remember where my apartment is. Max can drive me.”

Roger swallows hard and stands up straight. He looks for something to say and spits out the first thing that comes to him.

“Oh, well that’s your old apartment. You live with me now. You just have forgotten and that’s okay.”

You’re taken back by everything and slowly sit on the edge of the hospital bed. Max looks between the two of you and is confused as well.

“I live with you?” you whisper, looking up to him.

Roger knows he’s lying. Of course you don’t live with him. You’re not even with him, but he’s trying to fix everything with you. He knows he messed up by leaving you and he regrets it. But something also tells him that he’s going to regret this as well.

“Wait, so the two of you really are dating?” asks Max.

You look up to him and shrug, because to you, no. You weren't dating, but those pictures had told a different story. Those people that were known as your friends told a different story. And it was very believable.

“Oh…” says Max, taking a step back. “You just really don’t remember.”

You shake your head and look down.

“So what about the night we met? You were so eager to give me your number. So, what? Boyfriend then?” he asks, looking to Roger.

Roger smirked and shrugged his shoulders.

“We had a little dispute because I was being an ass. She was upset with me and quite frankly, I can’t blame her.” he says looking to you with sad eyes.

You lick your lips and stand back up. You face Max and shake your head.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize that I was like that.” you say, embarrassed thinking that you were trying to get with someone else while having a boyfriend.

Max shakes his head and looks into your eyes.

“I know for a fact you’re not like that. It’ll be okay.” he says, looking up to stare at Roger. “You’ll get your memory back. Don’t worry.”

Roger shifts his feet and looks away from his gaze. Max hugs you gently and kisses your head. The two of you whisper for a moment and he walks away, roughly knocking shoulders with Roger. He knows something is up with him and he’s going to try to figure it out. You turn and look to Roger and half smile.

“So now what?” you ask.

He smiles back and picks up his flowers, leaving Max’s on the table.

“So now we go home. We get you settled in and maybe seeing everything again will help you remember something.”

You smile at that thought, but of course Roger secretly hoped the opposite. You slowly begin walking out of the room. Roger’s hand was on your lower back as he stood close to you. Doctors and nurses all wished you farewell as you made your way out of the hospital. Roger’s car was waiting in front of the doors and he hurried to open it for you. You slowly bend down and hiss at the soreness. He tosses the flowers in the back seat and he gently helps you in. He closes the door, looks up and freezes. Max is across the parking lot, cigarette in his mouth as he stares at him. Roger swallows hard and hurries to his side of the car and slides in. He wastes no time getting out of there. Max seemed like a determined person and for once, that scared Roger.