#the score

Pairing: Dean Di Laurentis x Fem!Reader Genre: Romantic comedy, hurt/comfort, fluff Warnings: Minor car accident, mild head injury/concussion, temporary amnesia, light prescription drug humor, zero filter banter Summary: Waking up in a hospital room with a head injury and a blank spot in your memory is bad enough. Waking up to an absurdly handsome hockey player standing by your bed is a whole different problem. With your brain filter completely offline, you blurt out every unfiltered, embarrassing thought to your parents since you're unaware that the gorgeous stranger in the Briar Hockey jacket is actually your boyfriend, Dean Di Laurentis. Left with no memory of your past two years together, Dean sets out to court you all over again from scratch. Note: My masterlist 1 & 2

--

Dean and I have been together for two years, but our relationship usually consists of sharp banter, late-night food runs, and him pretending he is too cool for soft moments. Then I manage to crash my car on the way back to campus, and everything turns upside down.

I open my eyes, but the world feels like it is floating inside a jar of warm jelly. The overhead lights are bright, buzzing softly against my aching forehead. I feel a thick blanket of fog wrapped around my brain. Courtesy of whatever high-grade pain medication is currently dripping into my arm.

My mother is sitting on a vinyl chair to my left, holding my hand. My dad stands right behind her. But my gaze drifts past them and lands straight on the figure leaning against the windowsill.

He is wearing his dark Briar Hockey jacket over a wrinkled grey hoodie. His blonde hair is a messy disaster, and the shadows under his sharp eyes show he has not slept in hours. He looks completely exhausted and visibly tense. He is staring down at his hands like he is trying to hold himself together.

My brain completely fails to connect the dots. I don't recognize him as my boyfriend. I only see a guy who looks like he stepped off a fashion runway into a bleak hospital setting.

I stare at him openly. My head tilts against the stiff pillow.

"Mom," I say. My voice sounds thick and way too loud in the quiet room. "I don't know what medication I'm on, but it's hallucinating the most gorgeous human being alive. Who is that? He is literally the most beautiful man I have ever seen in my life. Why is he in my room?"

My dad lets out a sudden snort. My mother covers her mouth. Her shoulders shake as she bursts into full laughter.

Across the room, the sharp anxiety on the man's face melts away in a single second. The tense line of his shoulders drops, replaced instantly by his signature cocky grin. He raises an eyebrow at me, his blue eyes sparkling with sudden amusement.

"Hallucination, huh?" he says as he steps away from the window.

He walks slowly toward the side of the bed, enjoying every single second of my head-injury unfiltered honesty. He leans over the metal guardrail, resting his hands on either side of my mattress. The faint smell of cold winter air and his familiar cologne hit me, making my foggy head spin even more.

"You really think I'm that good-looking?" he asks softly, his smirk widening.

"Yes," I state with absolute seriousness. "You should be on a billboard. Are you an angel?"

He chuckles. Before I can process anything else, he dips his head down and softly pecks my lips. The kiss is brief, gentle, and warm.

My mind completely short-circuits. I freeze, my eyes going wide as saucers. I slap both hands over my mouth and gasp loudly against my own palms. I slowly turn my frantic gaze toward my parents, who are now practically weeping with laughter.

"Mom," I whisper. My voice muffled behind my hands. "10 out of 10 hospital stay. The gorgeous stranger just kissed me."

The man leans back and rests his chin in his hand while he looks down at me. His ego is visibly skyrocketing by the second, and his smile is so bright it almost hurts my tired eyes.

"I'm not a stranger, sunshine," Dean says, reaching out to gently trace the side of my face with his thumb. "I'm Dean. I'm your boyfriend. And you're going to hear about this compliment for the rest of your life."

I sink deeper into the pillows and still stare up at him like he hung the moon. My brain is still thoroughly confused by the painkillers, but as Dean pulls up a chair and firmly takes my hand in his, a deep sense of comfort completely pushes the lingering ache in my head away.

--

The doctor drops the news the next morning. My brain is physically fine after the crash, but the concussion left a quiet blank spot in my head. I remember my childhood, my parents, and my classes at Briar U. But the last two years are completely gone. That means I remember my life, but I completely forgot meeting and dating Dean Di Laurentis.

Dean refuses to be discouraged. He stands in the corner of my room while the doctor explains the temporary retrograde amnesia, nodding along like this is just a minor bump in the road. He decides that if he won me over once, he can easily do it twice.

His teammates drop by to visit me constantly. Garrett Graham, John Logan, and John Tucker are surprisingly sweet, and it is obvious from the way they talk to me that we have a close, easy relationship.

They absolutely love watching Dean start flirting and courting me again from scratch. Every morning, he shows up right as visiting hours start. He carries a paper cup with my exact coffee order, along with a warm blanket he brought from my dorm room because he knows I hate the scratchy hospital sheets.

"Good morning, sunshine," Dean says and walks into the room on Tuesday morning.

He is wearing a simple black t-shirt and grey sweatpants. My brain, still stripped of any normal social filter due to the head injury, completely fails to keep my thoughts inside my head.

I stare at him from the bed and my jaw drops open.

'Why are his shoulders that broad? His jawline could literally cut glass. Is it legal for someone to look like that at eight in the morning?'

Sitting on the couch nearby, his teammates Logan and Tucker burst into fits of laughter. Logan actually slaps his knee, wiping a tear from his eye.

"Please keep talking," Tucker chuckles and leans forward. "We need to record this. His head is going to get so big it won't fit through the arena doors."

Dean’s ego skyrockets on the spot. He smirks, tossing the coffee tray onto the bedside table before leaning down to press a soft kiss against my forehead.

"You can keep complimenting me," Dean whispers mischievously, "I don't mind it at all."

"I'm trying to play it cool," I tell him with complete seriousness and hold my hands up. "I'm trying very hard to be smooth right now, Dean. But my brain isn't sending the message to my mouth."

"You are doing great, sunshine," he teases and pulls a chair right next to my bed. He then takes my hand in his.

He uses my lack of filter to his absolute advantage over the next few days. Every time he leans in close, or traces his thumb over my knuckles, or flashes that crooked grin of his, I immediately blurt out how unfairly attractive he is. He flirts back relentlessly to tease me until my cheeks turn bright pink.

Yet, despite how much he seems to enjoy my candid reactions, I start noticing something else.

Behind his smooth grin and playful banter, there is a faint trace of sadness in his eyes. He misses the dynamic, sharp banter we used to share back when I had my full memory and spent half my time trying to resist his charm. More than that, he misses our actual history.

On Thursday afternoon, he brings a small portable speaker into the room. He plays a quiet acoustic playlist, sitting beside me while I finish my lunch.

"This was playing in the car the first time we drove up to the lake house," Dean says softly. His blue eyes are watching my face intently for any spark of recognition. "You fell asleep five minutes into the trip and drooled on my leather jacket."

I blink at him and search my brain for any image of that trip, but there is only empty space.

"I don't remember," I whisper softly. I look down at our hands and feel a sharp pang in my chest. "I know I'm head over heels in love with you right now, Dean. You're amazing to me. But I wish I remembered loving you back then."

The playful look on Dean's face vanishes instantly. For a brief second, his chest heaves with a heartbroken breath. He swallows hard. His grip on my hand tightens just a little bit. I see the raw pain he's been hiding behind his confident mask.

"Hey," he says gently and use his free hand to cup my face to make me look at him. "Don't worry about that. You don't have to force it."

"It isn't fair to you," I say, "You remember all these incredible milestones, and I just feel like I'm falling for a handsome stranger."

"Then let me be the handsome stranger," Dean says so softly that it makes my stomach flutter. "We have plenty of time to make new memories. I'm not going anywhere."

He leans in and kisses me gently on the lips. He takes his time and makes sure I feel every bit of patience and care he has stored up inside him. When he pulls back, his cocky smirk slowly returns, though his eyes remain deeply warm and steady.

He settles into the chair and wraps my fingers tightly inside his own. He is content to just sit by my side until the fog in my mind finally clears.

--

Two weeks after the doctor discharges me, Dean takes me to his off-campus house. He sets up a quiet evening in his living room, surrounded by soft lighting and low music. He wants to recreate our official first date. He carefully prepares the exact pasta dish we ate months ago while wearing his oversized grey Briar Hockey hoodie.

He shows a completely vulnerable side now. The arrogant playboy persona is gone, replaced by a quiet patience. He handles me like I'm precious cargo. He carefully sets down a steaming mug of tea on the coffee table in front of me without rushing a single thing.

"Careful, sunshine," Dean says softly and blow on the rim before handing the mug over. "It's still pretty hot."

I take the mug and try my absolute best to act cool and composed. I attempt to look relaxed and sophisticated to impress him. I completely forget that I've spent the last four days blurting out every unfiltered, adoring thought in my head.

Dean catches my rigid posture and chuckles. He sits down next to me on the couch and lean back with a slow grin.

"What are you doing over there?" he asks. "Why are you sitting like a statue?"

"I am being charming," I declare smoothly, taking a small sip of tea. "I am playing hard to get. You need to earn my affection, Di Laurentis."

Dean bursts into a full laugh and toss his head back. "Sunshine, you literally told me yesterday that my eyes look like expensive sapphires and that you wanted to bite my jawline. You lost the right to play hard to get three days ago."

I freeze as a sudden wave of warmth hits my chest. As he sits there laughing, the yellow light catches the silver ring on his thumb. The metallic glint blends with the scent of his familiar cedarwood cologne and the rich steam of the tea.

A sudden, sharp sensory spark snaps inside my brain.

The fog in my mind breaks apart like thin glass. Images surge through my head in a sudden, overwhelming flood. I see us driving to the lake house, laughing in his kitchen at two in the morning, holding hands in the cold rain outside the rink, and arguing about which movie to watch on our first anniversary.

Every single memory from the past two years comes rushing back in full force, filling the blank spaces in an instant.

Along with my history comes the embarrassment of the past two weeks. I remember waking up in the hospital. I remember looking at him like a wild animal and shouting to my parents that a gorgeous hallucination was in my room. I remember rating my hospital stay a ten out of ten because a model kissed me.

My face turns fiery red. I drop my head into my hands and let out a long groan of absolute despair.

"Oh no," I whisper into my palms. "Oh no, no, no."

Dean stops laughing. His posture shifts as he leans closer. "What is it? Are you in pain? Does your head hurt?"

"My memory is back," I squeak and slowly peer through my fingers at his shocked face. "All of it. I remember everything."

Dean blinks and stares at me as the words process. "You remember us? The lake house? The first date?"

"Yes!" I wail and cover my face again. "And I also remember telling my parents that you look like an angel who should be on a billboard! I called you a gorgeous stranger! I told your teammates that your jawline could cut glass!"

Dean sits completely still for a single second before a massive triumphant smile spreads across his face. He grabs my wrists and gently pulls my hands away from my flaming cheeks.

"You remembered," he says softly. His blue eyes shine with pure relief, all the quiet heartbreak from the past weeks vanish entirely.

"I did," I say softly and look up at him. The embarrassment fades into something warm and steady. "I remembered that I love you. But honestly, Dean, even when my brain was totally blank, my heart chose you all over again in five seconds flat. You didn't even need to compete with my old memories."

Dean smiles softly and rests his forehead against mine. He realizes in this moment that whether we're building a future or holding onto the past, we're always going to end up right here.

"I'm still never letting you live this down," Dean whispers. His lips brush against mine as he speaks. "For the rest of our lives, whenever I want something, I'm going to remind you that I am a ten out of ten hospital stay."

Tired living like I'm faceless

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