crypt | meme | #001 -- hardest words to say ( and i'd do anything to make you stay )

meme | #001 -- hardest words to say ( and i'd do anything to make you stay )

HARDEST THING TO SAY MEME

Sometimes the hardest things to say are also the most important. It doesn't matter how much it scares you to do so, it's finally time to be honest.

- post as your character.
- others go to RNG and roll numbers 1-22 then respond setting up a scenario.
- respond and have fun!

01. I DON'T LOVE YOU ANYMORE Unfortunately, you can't keep lying to your partner/friend/family anymore. You just don't feel the same for them anymore.
02. I WOULD KILL YOU The person who means so much to you has done something completely unforgivable and now it's time to make sure they know where they stand. You would kill them if you ever got the chance.
03. I LOVE YOU, BUT... A bittersweet love confession. You know you love this person more than anything, but you're not sure you can give them what they need.
04. I DON'T TRUST YOU No matter how you feel about this person, you really can't trust them anymore.
05. SACRIFICE You're going to sacrifice yourself, for the person you're talking with or for the good of all humanity. You want them to know the reasons and that there's no stopping you.
06. TROUBLE You're in trouble and you might not make it through. You need to let at least one person know how you feel before it's too late though.
07. CRIME CONFESSION You did something you weren't proud of and now it's time to admit it.
08. DEMONS We've all got our demons and we've all got our own personal nightmares we have to face, but this time? You can't hold it all back.
09. I'M PREGNANT... Now's not the best time for it maybe or maybe you're just nervous how your partner will react, but they need to hear it.
10. BETRAYAL You've betrayed this person and you have to tell them the truth, no more running from it
11. CHEATED You've been unfaithful and it's time to tell your lover.
12. BROKEN That's it. You've had it. You are entirely broken and tired of everything.
13. AFRAID Something has you deathly afraid and you need to talk about it.
14. HELP ME You need someone to help you, bad. You can't do it alone anymore, you've tried.
15. I'M SORRY You said something or did something horrible and now it's time to ask for forgiveness.
16. YOU WERE A MISTAKE Sorry, but whoever you're talking to was the biggest mistake of your life or maybe it was just something you did together.
17. NOT WHO I SAY I AM You're so far from who they think you are, you need to finally tell the truth.
18. LET'S RUN AWAY You want to just get out, leave everything behind and be with this one person for the rest of your life.
19. ASHAMED Either you're ashamed of something they have done or something you did, either way you need to bring it up.
20. CAN'T REMEMBER The person standing in front of you looks so happy to see you, so relieved, but how do you tell them you can't remember a thing about them?
21. HOW COULD YOU You don't understand how they could treat you like they have, do what they have done when you've done nothing but be good to them.
22. YOUR CHOICE Either choose an option from above, mix and match, or make up your own idea.

yep. totally stolen from memebells.
frolic with your subject lines and be free!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Summer didn't want space or time, she had both for the past four years. Now she wanted him to be her Leckie, she needed him to be. And how could she explain to him that his family was more than complicated, that he never felt quite loved by the them the way he wanted, the way she loved him. "Yeah, I guess they like me." She'd barely spoken to them besides delivering a note or two to them.

But the words that really crush her are how he made it sound like she meant nothing to him now. And that was when she realized that she did. That she meant absolutely nothing to him anymore, that she wasn't anyone's love, anyone's hope. And that her own was gone in the blink of an eye. She wanted to fall on her knees right there and pray to God to make it stop, to undo this.

But all she could do was nod at his question, looking more upset than she did before. "Yeah, that's it. Do they know you're coming?"

He certainly hadn't meant to sound like she didn't mean anything - no, he couldn't remember things she'd done for him, things she'd said, but this had to be hard for her and she was trying so hard to help... He just wished she could help, somehow, though he didn't know how. (He'd find out soon enough, when his parents treated him like they had before - maybe their own way of trying to help, but it sure wouldn't.)

"Ah... no, I tried to call them a few times but no one picked up. I guess they were just busy." Of course, he didn't know why, but he did at least notice that she was looking more and more upset. But the only way he could think of to resolve it was to leave her be, to give her some time and to try and get better if he could, hoping that his family really could help. "I guess we're all in for a surprise," he said, as he stopped at the foot of the drive. "Can I... is there anything else I can do for you?" It was a weak question, a weak offer... but he didn't know what else to actually offer, unless she had something in mind.

"They didn't?" That made her angry for him. How could they not be there? How could they not answer the phone and then they could tell Summer what had happened? Then she'd be more prepared for this instead of feeling like she got slapped in the face. "They'll be glad to see you," she said softly because despite their faults, the Leckies weren't mean or anything like that, they'd be relieved to see their son alive after all this time and not a word.

At his question, she paused, her eyes lifting to meet with his, her mouth twist. "Just--" she let out a breath before she moved to kiss him. Maybe it wasn't fair, maybe it was wrong, but she just needed the memory one more kiss to keep her going even if it wouldn't be the kiss she wanted.

He shrugged a little helplessly. "I guess they were just busy." Though he was, admittedly, a little relieved when she said they'd be happy to see him - that's what he wanted, needed - parents who could take him in, help him, give him someone to turn to when he had no idea how to handle this on his own. And he was growing less sure by the minute, given that clearly this didn't affect just him, but someone who was supposed to be so important to him, too. He needed to sit down and ask his parents about Summer, about what to do, about how to help her through this. The ability to take on the world, the fear of nothing that the amnesia had brought with it had fully disappeared, leaving only uncertainty in its place.

Uncertainty and surprise, as Summer moved, despite everything, to kiss him again. No, it wouldn't - couldn't - be the kiss she wanted but after the initial second of shock his lips moved to mold to hers as something in his body, at least, remembered how kissing was supposed to go. His hands reached out for her hips, touching them tentatively without his permission, as he tried to put one last apology into that kiss, and part of his desire to figure this out, to make it right, somehow. It wasn't the love she wanted, but hopefully it could somehow help, all the same.

The moment her lips pressed to his, she knew it was wrong. And selfish. But for a selfish moment, she kissed him and he kissed her and it was almost like it was real when his hands rested on her hips. Then reality slapped her in the face and she pulled away, feeling even worse than she did before, if it was possible. She mumbled an apology before she could muster-- "Welcome home, Robert Leckie."

And with one last look, she took her basket and rushed across the street to her house before she completely lost it. Once she was through the door and it was closed behind her, she'd be able to fall to the ground and cry until she couldn't cry anymore, until she had no more tears left. Because even though he was alive, he wasn't hers anymore, he wasn't Robert Leckie, he was just the boy with curly hair and a charming smile that lived across the street all over again.

He managed to lose himself in that kiss for just a moment - for just a heartbeat, all that mattered were warm lips against his and someone who cared about him. But then the moment shattered - Summer stepped back, mumbling words that felt like a slap in the face to him, somehow, before she turned and was gone, leaving him standing in the drive of a house that was supposed to be home to face people that were supposed to be his family.

He watched her disappear into her house, and watched her door for longer than that, as though it could somehow explain things, help him through this. But of course it couldn't; by the time he shook himself out of his stupor, the sky was turning red and orange and he turned on his heel, walking with no little trepidation up to the door of the little white house and knocking.

What ensued was nothing like what he'd imagined. The elderly couple that opened the door and welcomed him into their home were supposed to be his parents, but after two days he felt more like a boarder than their son. Yes, they'd been happy to see him back - his mother had given him a stiff hug and his father had given him a stiffer handshake; they'd cleared the room that was supposed to be his of four years of accumulated junk and so he'd been sleeping on a little twin bed that he suspected, given that he couldn't remember, he'd had since he was a kid. The desk held a typewriter and the bookshelf a number of dusty, worn books, and he'd spent the next day with them because his parents had puttered around the house but seemed to not be quite sure what to do with him, how to talk to him, and he certainly wasn't sure how to talk to them. Oh, they talked, but it was about which of his siblings had said what and how thin he'd gotten and how he could help clear the leaves from the backyard now that he was home - nothing about how to remember who he was, nothing about Summer, the girl across the street who'd hung their star in her window, nothing about how to get back whatever life it was that he'd left behind.

On his second day home, his mother had asked him why didn't he go down to the news office and ask for his job back. Robert had just stared at her - how was he supposed to do that when he hadn't even remembered he was a newswriter? He'd made some excuse, saying he'd do it that afternoon, picked at the breakfast his mother had set in front of him, and gotten the hell out of that house as fast as he could. Somehow another minute there felt like it would drive him crazy, and he'd only been home for a day. He'd wandered the town until his feet hurt, garnering looks and waves in his uniform (his clothes had apparently been packed or sold and no one had found them yet) but no memories surfaced past a feeling when he passed the park or a little glimmer of something when he passed the bookstore, things like that. Nothing solid, no evidence of the life he'd clearly had, and even stopping in a soda shop for lunch and looking through the book he'd grabbed off his shelf - Homer's Iliad - did little for his memory or his mood.

He spent nearly all day simply wandering, never actually finding the news office (though he hadn't really bothered) but eventually he found his way back to Carmita - but his feet took him to the other side of the street, to the house with the blue star in the window, and almost before he knew what he was doing he'd knocked on the door, feeling at once miserable, nervous, and hopeful.

Neil Roberts had found his only daughter sobbing on the floor of the foyer when he arrived home from work and for a moment, he thought the news had finally come. Robert Leckie was dead. And his heart ached for her and even for him. But when he was able to get her to calm down, to speak to her, she told him in a numb voice of all that had happened. It was shocking but not unheard of, though he'd dealt with more men who had shell shock and were unresponsive as well as unaware of their own lives.

This was different. And this wasn't something he could fix for her. Summer spent the next day in bed and Dr. Roberts took the day off, alternating between sitting in his study and fretting and standing outside Summer's door and fretting. But he couldn't do it long, not when he'd hear her sobs and it tore at his heart. He wondered what was worse for his dear daughter, Leckie's death or his forced indifference. But the next day he left his daughter to travel after her many reassurances that she'd be alright. But he was determined, that while in the city, he'd consult the best doctors there were and find a way to help, somehow, some way.

Summer was finally driven from her room out of necessity. Her stomach would not stand neglect any longer and she was forced to go downstairs and eat something. She'd spent the better part of two days crying, sleeping, or staring out her window. Taking a stack of his letters with her, she moved sat numbly in the kitchen, chewing on a piece of toast before she angrily flung the plate at the wall, watching it shatter, like her heart seemed to be doing. Over and over.

Finally, she moved to clean up the mess, face pale as she went about the task. That was when there was a knock at the door. She was in no mood for vistors, no mood at all. But there was no way for her to send the person away, the housemaid had left already and her father was gone. So she sighed softly, smoothed out the simple skirt and blouse she had on before moving to answer the door. Of course, it wasn't just any visitor, it was-- "Leckie?"

To say Summer looked terrible was... well, a bit of an understatement. The girl who answered the door was pale and haggard-looking, her eyes red and rimmed with dark circles. For a heartbeat he thought maybe she was sick, and then he thought... but no, this couldn't all be over him, could it? That was ridiculous... wasn't it? He stood there for a second, staring at her with his mouth slightly open, before he realized he had to say something and it sure couldn't be, Wow, you don't look very well.. So instead he swallowed and tried to look her in the face and said, "Hi, Summer."

Suddenly this seemed like a very bad idea, like he should just turn around and go. But that was a horrible thing to do, and so instead he just stood on the doorstep, book hanging loosely from his fingers, glancing past her to see if her family would come rushing over to see who was here. But it was just her, no one else showed up to save him, and so finally he added, lamely, "I thought I might come by. But if you don't want to see me..." He'd understand. He just wasn't sure how to tell her that he desperately didn't want to go home - that place didn't feel like his home, and he didn't know where else to go, who else to turn to.

Somehow, she thought that seeing him would be like salt to her wounds but, in fact, it's the opposite. He is the balm to her pain, even just seeing him standing there on her porch. He doesn't look particularly happy or apologetic so that means that he still doesn't remember. But he looks almost miserable, maybe a little... lost? "Oh, no, please come in. Daddy's at work in New York City." She paused for a moment, realizing he wouldn't know what her father did. "He's a doctor."

She moved to open the door for him to come, aware that she does not look her best. "I'm sorry, I've been under the weather and I wasn't expecting guests or I would've dressed up. " Because it's not just Leckie anymore. It's Robert Leckie. She offered him a soft smile. "Would you like some coffee?"

He really hadn't expected her to invite him in - oh, he'd hoped she would, but after the disaster of meeting her on the sidewalk the other day, well, he wouldn't have held it against her if she'd slammed the door in his face. But she didn't, she asked him to come in, and he smiled gratefully, probably looking a lot more relieved than even he meant to as he stepped inside.

Of course, when she said she'd been under the weather he believed her, it made more sense to him than her looking awful because of him, because suddenly that seemed very self-centered. "I'm sorry you're not feeling well - but you look fine. I mean, you don't have to get dressed up just for me or anything, he said, standing to the side to let her close the door. And even though he didn't mean to, he couldn't help the way he perked up when she asked if he wanted coffee - lunch had been a long time ago, but he hadn't thought to stuff more than a couple of dollars into his pocket before he'd left. "That would be... really nice, actually, but if you're not feeling well I can make it. Just show me where you keep it." He smiled, though he was suddenly aware that maybe he'd made coffee here before, maybe a hundred times, he had no idea. All the same, it was like being here for the first time, this place looking as foreign as the house across the street had - though the face here was admittedly a lot prettier. "I probably should've called...."

Summer wanted to be around him in some selfish way even if it hurt to know he didn't know her. She closed the door behind him before leading the way to the kitchen, though she glanced back and shook her head. "No, you're the guest, I'm making the coffee. Are you hungry or anything?" She sounded eager to make him something because, frankly, it'd give her something to do.

"It's okay, I mean, I wasn't doing too much--" She stopped when she spotted the letters on the kitchen table, her stomach falling some but she swallowed and decided to remain strong, to not crumble like she had the first time he saw her. She was going to get him back, she was. "Take a seat, relax, okay?"

For a minute he figured he'd say he wasn't hungry, that coffee was enough - but that would be a lie, and the rumble of his stomach might have been loud enough to be audible even over their footsteps. "A little..." he admitted sheepishly, though somehow he felt like he was taking advantage of her, of her hospitality as she led him into the kitchen, where there was a small stack of worn papers on the table. "But I really don't want to be a bother," he insisted, even as she told him to take a seat and he glanced at the chairs. "I mean, I came here because..." But suddenly saying Because I didn't want to go home sounded horrible. Of course there was truth in the words, "I thought I should see you. See how you were doing." Because there was a reason he was here and not home, and it was definitely her.

He sat down like she'd asked, though on the edge of the seat, setting the book on the table. He glanced over at the papers, but he felt like he was spying and stopped, turning to her. "Are you really sure it's no trouble?'

She heard the rumble and knew the answer. She figured that meals were probably pretty meager in the hospital he was in, if they were meager in the one she volunteered in. She'd been kind enough to make extra things for the soldiers from timet to time, which earned her many proposals of marriage. "It's no bother. I need to eat something myself." She glanced around the kitchen. "How would you like some mashed potatoes and pot roast? We have some left over from dinner last night. I only have to make the potatoes." And then she'd have something to do with her hands. But first, she moved to put the coffee on. Of course, his question made her look at him for a moment. "I'm... okay. I mean, I've been better but I'm sure you can say the same."

She spied the book as he placed it on the table, giving him a smile as she nodded towards it. "Your favorite. Sometimes you'd write quotes from it. Or ask me to write a few passages from it for you."

The meals had admittedly been meager - steady, but rationed and there were no seconds. So he couldn't help the way his face lit up - probably like those other soldiers' had - when she mentioned pot roast and mashed potatoes. "Are you sure that's not too much trouble? I mean... it sounds wonderful, and I'm only going to eat it if you eat some, but..." It still seemed like some work to go through, though he did feel better when she indicated she'd eat some, too. "As long as you'll eat, too." Then he wouldn't feel too much like she'd gone out of her way.

Of course, when she said how she was doing - and that they'd both probably been better - he did nod, glancing at the table a moment - he was debating just being honest and telling her how... awkward things had been at home when she noticed the book, making him glance up. "Really? It seemed a little more well-worn than the others," he murmured, running his fingertips over it, almost lovingly. "I read a little of it this afternoon. I mean, I sort of just opened it up to the middle, but..." Actually, even though he'd been in a bad mood, now that he thought back on it, it hadn't really been a problem to start from the middle. "It felt... familiar," he realized out loud, looking at the book a little more closely, like it was the key to his memory - though after a moment he knew it couldn't be that simple. Still... "That has to be good, right?"

"It can be our dinner. I know it's not much but I'm not the world's best cook. I didn't make the pot roast. And mashed potatoes are easy." She was already going to the cupboard to get the potatoes out to peel. Smiling a bit, this is what she imagined her life would be like when he came back except he'd be trying to steal kisses and making it hard for her to work.

When he spoke about the book, about it being familiar, her face lit up a bit, her expression hopeful. "That's really, really good." She moved towards him before stopping and turning back around to wash off the potatoes first, before starting to peel them with a knife. She was quiet for a moment. "How are you? I mean... How is it being home?"

"Oh, it's just fine - really. It sounds great, Summer, really great." And he didn't have to fake enthusiasm there, whether she'd made it or not - she was getting it ready for him now and his mouth was ready to water just at the thought of the hearty food. "Thank you again."

He smiled, which grew a little wider as she tured toward him and looked happier for a moment, saying that it really did sound good, that the book seemed familiar, at the very least. He watched her turn away to peel the potatoes, losing himself in that for a moment - so he wouldn't have to think about how she'd probably wanted something like this to go - before she asked that question and he bit his lip, silently hemming and hawing over whether he should be honest or not. On the one hand, he really should probably just say it was fine and leave it at that. On the other... if she knew him as well as he thought she might, she'd know he was lying. And that was no way to rebuild a friendship... let alone something more. Because whether Summer knew it or not, he'd done some thinking and of one thing he was sure - he really must have been a lucky man, and why should he throw that away? Why shouldn't he try to rebuild what they'd had? Either he'd remember, and it would all be fine, or he'd learn to love her again. He'd loved her before, and she obviously still cared for him. That was worth saving, wasn't it?

Especially when... "It's been... not like how I thought it would be," he admitted, glancing down at the book on the table. "I sort of feel like they're going to ask me to pay rent - I mean, my parents have been nice, but... I don't think they were ready to have their son back. I know they didn't know I was coming, but I feel more like a guest in somebody else's home than... " He finally stopped, feeling bad for talking that way about his parents, who really just hadn't expected their son home from war without some kind of warning - nevermind that he'd tried to call them more than a few times, he tried to bite back his bitterness about that. Summer didn't need to hear that. "Mom asked why I didn't just go down to the... the Record, she said, and get my job back. I feel like if I tried to explain that I don't even remember working there... " She wouldn't have gotten it. Some small part of him felt like his parents thought he was faking it, that it was all some game and if they just treated him like nothing was wrong, he'd give in and they could say they'd told him so. "I'm sorry - it's nice, they've been nice, really, that's all you really wanted to hear about it, right?"

Edited 2012-05-04 05:29 (UTC)

As he started to speak, she forgot about the potatoes, after starting the water to boil, and turned to look at him, her eyes watching his face. It broke her heart. And it made her angry. But she wasn't surprised. His parents, from what he'd told her, seemed to be too old to be parents anymore. He was the youngest and perhaps unwanted in a way. But still, they should've been more supportive and it angered her to hear that they weren't. As he went on, she moved her peeling to the table, sitting across from him so she could talk to him properly. Her expression was sympathetic but not pitying.

"It's not nice, Leckie," she corrected him softly. "I was afraid they'd do this. You wrote to me about them... I... I'm so sorry. They should be showering you with love and memories and trying to support you." Because that's exactly what she wanted to be doing, what she could be doing if he let her someday. "Look. My dad likes you. And you're always welcome here if you need somewhere to just get away. My dad has an amazing library." She remembered Leckie's face when he'd first seen it the night of their second date, the way he looked at it in awe. He'd been so much longer then, there were lines on his face now that weren't there before. But still, he was just as handsome as the day he left. And even more so. "I... This is so awkward, I know but... I'm in love with Robert Leckie, which is you. And I want to hear about you, be there for you even if..." He didn't love her back. She finally glanced at the stack of letters, tied with a ribbon. "Those are your letters from the past year. I could give you all of them if you wanted to read them. "

He supposed they were probably trying to be supportive in their own way - after all, if they thought he was faking or if they thought that going on as normal would help then it made sense... but he couldn't help but want them to be a little more supportive. That was why he'd found himself at Summer's door this evening... maybe it had been taking advantage, but when she'd said he could come there if he needed someplace else to go... well, he had. He'd desperately wanted to be somewhere where he knew someone would pay attention to him, actually listen to him instead of nagging or acting like he was being insufferable.

Of course, when she said she'd expected his parents to act this way, that he'd mentioned them before... he felt a little vindicated, even if it still felt like being selfish. but he couldn't help but smile when she said he was still welcome there, nodding a little. And while it did still sound... strange, to have her tell him so simply that she loved him... it wasn't unwelcome. He wasn't caught off guard this time, not like before. He looked over at her, his smile almost turning sad. "I want to say I love you back - I mean, I wish I could, I wish I could remember you because... you seem pretty wonderful and I've only known you the two days - that I can remember," he murmured. And he might have said more, but when she indicated the stack of papers and said they were letters he'd written - "They are? You... you wouldn't mind if I read them?" Maybe they could help, maybe it would be like talking to himself from the past, maybe it would jog something loose.

Edited 2012-05-04 20:33 (UTC)

For someone who used to be able to so easily make her heart swell, he was getting awfully good at breaking it lately. His words felt like a sock to the gut. Because while they were kind, the sentiment was meant to be, it hurt to hear. He didn't love her. And it wasn't anyone's fault. He didn't love her because he didn't know her. She blinked at his words, before glancing down at the potatoes in an attempt to mask her pain. She wanted him to feel welcome here because even if it hurt, seeing his face made it better. And she couldn't just turn him away, not when he was reaching out like this. He was still the man she loved as far as she was concerned. Though she had to wonder if experiences made a man who he was, did that mean that this Robert Leckie was nothing like hers.

When he asked after the letters, she shook her head. "You did right them, so of course you can read them." It was his writing, his words, his thoughts, his love. And sadly she had none of her letters to give him, only stacks upon stacks of his letters, some torn, some worn, many tear-stained. "Maybe it will help." Because the words he wrote were so powerful, he had to feel something reading them.

He might not have seen the pain so clearly on her face, but he saw the way she looked down, and he could guess why. He didn't mean to hurt her - but he couldn't help it, he couldn't say he loved her when no, he didn't know her. But he wanted to know her, he had to start somewhere, right? And he was willing to try, really he was, because... what else did he have? He had nothing, not even his own memories, but he had this beautiful, kind girl who said she loved him and wanted him to love her back. That, to him, was a goal that seemed more than worth reaching for. "I wish I knew what to do," he murmured, wishing for the hundredth, maybe thousandth time that he knew what would bring his memories back. But he didn't - he wasn't sure anyone did - and so all he could do was fumble along in what felt like the dark.

But there was a small ray of hope - he hadn't found any kind of journal at home, but here were letters in his own hand and Summer was willing to give them over for him to read. "Maybe it will," he said hopefully, reaching for the stack, glancing over the first letter. It looked like it had been through the war - well, it had - but the ink was still clear enough to read. The writing was a little messy, mostly cursive but sometimes not, like maybe it had been written over the course of a few days. His eyes scanned the words, almost wondering at them, at how they were put together - he could write like this? He devoured the first letter, then a second, reading about friends and events he could vaguely remember, given that the last few years of his life were just about all he did have, hazy though some of them might be. But the thing was... reading these letters helped bring things back in focus - things that had happened only in the recent past, but it helped nonetheless. When he got to a fourth letter, he stopped, glancing up at Summer, saying quickly - "I think I remember writing this one." He remembered days in a little cabin, complaining about drill after drill, complaining about rats and rotten coconuts with four faces that lined up with names he could remember. "I know I remember writing this one."

Still, his kind words and wishes that he could do more are much better than cold indifference. If he ignored her or pushed her away, like she was afraid he'd do, that would have been far worse than the pull at her heart. "Me too." She glanced up at him for a moment, offering him a sad but supportive smile before she went back to peeling, letting him read over the letters.

She stole glances a few times, to see if anything was clicking but really, he looked more in awe then like he was having any revelations. And as she starts on the last potato, he speaks, says words that inflate her heart with hope. She looks at him both alarmed and relieved. "Really? Which one is it? What do you remember?" She was trying to help him, trying to draw out whatever memories she could. She wasn't sure if that would help but she had to try, just like he was determined to try to know her.

He can't ignore her, not when she's the first - the only - person to be kind to him since he stepped off that bus and into a life he doesn't understand. And he definitely can't ignore her when it's clear how much she's hurting, how much what they had meant to her. He has no right to take that away from her - not when it's something he wants to cling to, himself.

"This one," he moved to show her the letter, one whose content was not particularly eventful, but still. "I remember writing it. I know where I was, I remember everyone horsing around while I was trying to write it..." It was hard to describe. He couldn't quite remember how he was feeling, what was going on in his head. He couldn't remember writing it to her, specifically, but still. "It's like remembering a snatch of something from a dream. It's maybe not all there... but some of it is." He moved to touch the paper, like maybe tactile sensation would help, but... "I don't think I remember what I was thinking, though." He couldn't remember more about her. But this had to be a start, didn't it?

There's new hope here. And even if there wasn't, Summer had already decided to cling to what she had. She wasn't going to give up on him, not ever. She'd make him love her again if she had to. She'd wait however long it took for him to remember and if he never did, she'd still be with him if he let her. She listened to him, her attention solely on him as he spoke, her lips curving up into a hopeful smile.

"That's really good, Leckie. Seriously." It was better than nothing and she knew it wasn't like the story books where everything gets fixed overnight. It would take time if it even happened at all. "Do you remember anything about the people you were with?"

That fact, that she'd stand by him, help him, support him however this went... that would mean more than anything to him, that alone could make him fall in love all over again. And if he could - if he had to, because he never fully remembered how things should be - he would, he knew he would. Honestly, even if this had been some kind of first date, he was already touched, she'd already made an impression and it had been less than half an hour.

He couldn't help but smile back as she smiled at him, liking that look on her face so much more than the tears, the desperation and hopelessness. "Yeah, some - I mean... it's funny. I remember my buddies, I know their names, I was worried about them. Hoosier and Chuckler - Bill and Lew," he remembered, "they were talking about some comic or other, which superhero was better. I remember that, I told them to can it or take it outside, I was trying to write..." It was coming back to him a little better, and a flash or two of feeling with it. "I wanted to finish this letter," he said, setting it down on the table. "I wanted to send it home as fast as I could, I remember that." He couldn't remember why - though when he remembered eventually, he'd know it had been because he hadn't gotten one off in some time, and he hadn't wanted Summer to worry. "At least... I think I did." He stared at the letter, second-guessing himself, adding, "It's like trying to remember something.. like a dream that you thought was a memory until you realize it isn't - only it's the other way around."

She didn't want to rush him, to push him, but oh, she wanted him to hurry up and get better. She wanted him to know her, to remember the things she'd told him in those letters, things she'd never told anyone. Her dreams, her hopes, her fears, the way she felt about love, and being left behind. All of that was lost and she was scared to have to tell it to him in person, it was so much easier in letters. But she tried to smile when he went on, seeming to remember everything but her. It was slightly devastating but she didn't let it show.

"Maybe if you read some more... wrote down those memories in a journal, that might help, you know?" Maybe piece by piece he'd eventually remember his whole life. "I wish I could help you somehow. I mean... all I can do is answer your questions." And that was unfair, she wished she could do more. She stood up to put the potatoes in the boiling water before starting the oven to reheat the pot roast.

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Ahhh and then I got kidnapped ALL AFTERNOON LONG

it's okay I just got home.

<33! Though I may crash early, I am EXHAUSTED

<333 i know the feeling. I'll be around a little tomorrow but I'm going out tomorrow night <3