2.6 | Forget Me Not ✓

+4 || gerbera jamesonii

A/N

My biggest apologies for the huge delay! I got really busy and completely forgot about updating. I'm also preparing for my next project, which will be out in August, so I hope you understand my distraction, and thank you for still being here!

Hey, so, question: since we're on universe #2, which one of my boys is your favourite? Do leave a +1 on the one you like best in the comment section beside the name, and this is solely me being curious. It's not like I'll kill off the one you like most. Really.

Callum Wright (Notorious)

Miles Callaghan (Knight in Distress/Miles Away)

Dylan Torres (Forget Me Not)

Have fun casting your votes and happy reading!

x Noelle

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+ 4

g e r b e r a j a m e s o n i i

For warmth.

(now: +4)

PALE WHITE SUNLIGHT streams in through the windows, bathing the room in an almost ethereal glow. It's quiet, in the middle of the afternoon, and he's fast asleep.

As quietly as she can, she steals into the room, shutting the door with a soft click behind her. There are a ton of get-well-soon gifts scattered across the table, the dresser and the floor beside the bed. But most of them remain untouched, and she wonders if it's because he isn't interested in opening them, or if they're from people he can no longer remember.

She hopes, for their sake and for his, that it's not the latter.

For a moment, she watches him. His features are relaxed; his eyelashes fanned out on his cheekbones, and his freckles ever more prominent under the light. There are still several bruises marring his skin; his leg is still in a cast and so is his right wrist. But, apart from that, he looks well. He's recovering—physically, at least.

The pang in her chest grows the longer she stares at him, until it's burning, a fiery ache that makes her want to double over. He's forgotten her. Of all people, it had to be her. In the space of his heart that's reserved solely for her, there's only emptiness now. He's forgotten her laughter, his love; their hopes when they first began, their plans for their future; all of their firsts, and all the times he told her that she would be his last love.

Did you really forget how to love me? she wonders, swallowing hard as the thought rises in her mind. What if you never remember how to again?

She takes a deep breath and steps a little closer. There's a small space on the dresser beside his bed, and she reaches into her bag, pulling out a football jacket. For a moment, she hugs it to her chest and squeezes her eyes shut.

She remembers it: navy blue jacket on the grey sidewalk, when he'd first placed it down for her to sit on, their heads light with alcohol and midnight conversation. The soft fabric beneath her bare arms when he eases her down onto it on their fourth date; his lips covering hers with a growing urgency as she pulls his hand underneath her skirt. A blanket of warmth surrounding her as he drapes it over her shoulders at the airport; a small catch in his voice as he says, softly, 'We'll be together again.'

She remembers it all too well. She wishes, desperately, that he'll remember it too.

Carefully, she starts to place it on the dresser. But she must've made a sound, because, suddenly, Dylan wakes up. His gaze fixes on her, bright and clear. And for one moment, a glimmer of hope surges within her. Does he remember...?

But then he blinks, and his eyebrows furrow. "What're you doing back here?"

She falters. This is the first time, she realizes, that they're having a conversation alone. Maybe she can get through to him. "I, uh—I just had something I wanted to give to you," she says, lifting the jacket in her hands. "It's really important."

"Yeah?" There's a suspicious edge to his voice. "Like the other stuff you've been leaving in my room?"

"You know about them?" She'd been so careful, visiting only whenever he's fast asleep. On those days when he's wide awake, she leaves the things with Morgan instead.

"That chemistry textbook, a gift card, a ticket stub and a polaroid of Disneyland?" He points to the window ledge, and that's when she realizes that all the things she's left him are placed there in a neat pile. "Are they really that important?"

"They are if you can remember them."

"The thing is, I can't. That's been made explicitly clear to me by every doctor I've met." With some effort, he pulls himself up into a sitting position. Emma immediately moves forward to help him, but he bats her hand away. "Do you know how frustrating this is? Everyone tells me that there's a huge gap in my memory, but I can't feel it. My memory is perfectly fine to me, and nothing is missing. Everything is good."

With a slow, sinking dread, she realizes what he's trying to tell her. "You're happy with the way things are, aren't you? You won't even try to remember because...you don't want to."

"All I know is that my life is good right now. I have my family with me, and a girlfriend, and my body is recovering. I can't take any of that for granted, and—"

"Wait," she cuts in, with a frown. "You have a girlfriend?"

He nods. "That's why you need to stop whatever it is you're doing. Maybe you and I had something in the past, but I honestly can't remember it anymore. I do remember her though," he adds, a little softer this time. "I remember how I feel about her."

"What—who?" Emma stares at him in utter confusion. Should she get a doctor to check on him again? "Since when did you even have another girlfriend?"

"Not another. One girlfriend." Emma watches with growing disbelief as he presses the emergency button beside his bed. It's just as well—he should really get a nurse to check on his head. At the sound of footsteps, Dylan straightens, his lips lifting in a wide smile. "It's always been her."

Emma turns as the door opens. Her disbelief vanishes, only to be replaced by a slow, dawning shock.

"Florence Aryton?"