It starts out so normally, so calmly, in a day like any other. He awakens, finding the other half of his bed vacant, as usual, but able to hear stirring in another room of his apartment. Still groggy, he rubs one eye with a closed fist, trying to fully wake up. He flings off the covers and swings his legs over the side of the bed, causing an unmistakable creak in the floorboards as he stands. At that, the noise down the hall ceases. Figuring there's no surprising her now, he shrugs, rolls his shoulders, and exits the room.
When he reaches the kitchen, he finds her, fully dressed at the table with a spoonful of cereal halfway to her open mouth. He leans against the wall, a smug grin plastered on his face. Her eyes flick upwards from her bowl to meet his, and the corners of her lips twitch upwards.
"Morning," she greets.
"Good morning," he replies, sauntering over to her and leaning over the back of her chair.
She cranes her neck so she's somewhat able to look him in the eyes. "Get your hairy chest off me," she laughs and attempts to smack him away. It only seems to encourage him, however, and he wraps his arms around her from behind the chair. She shrieks in laughter and kicks out with her legs, nearly bumping her shins on the table. "Stop it!"
He doesn't answer, opting to instead try lifting both her and the chair at once. This prompts another shriek out of her, and she drops her spoon as she wriggles in an attempt to escape. It clatters to the floor, quickly forgotten. Despite her protests, however, she can't stop laughing. He can't help but smile in giddiness while he feels the laughter shake her body, and soon after joins in, carrying both her and the chair away from the table. With more room, she kicks even further, swinging her legs out as far as she can, still crying for him to put the damn chair down, and he just chuckles in response. They're as free-flowing as water over the rocks, floating on air and nobody can bring them down. He doesn't bother with labels. Truthfully, he's never cared for them, not a bit.
"Put me down!" she squeals again, throwing her head back against his shoulder.
"Well I suppose this chair is getting a little heavy," he replies, smirking at the bait he's just thrown her, and sets her down. A silence develops, and he's fairly certain she'll take it. It isn't as if he means to wound her, but at times like this, he can't keep himself from messing with her. Though the question remains whether or not she'll take him seriously.
Her shoulders slump forward ever so slightly but her posture remains. She's thinking, a bit questioning, but not hurt. She turns around to look at him with soft eyes, and he feels his heart thump one hard time against his ribcage. Her lower lip sticks out just a tad, and she worries it with her teeth. He suddenly feels a tugging urge to bite it. It brings images flooding back to his mind, thoughts that elevate his pulse and make his mouth dry. She's a right witch, and his expression must change under her gaze, for she smiles at him.
"You don't think I'm fat, do you?"
He shakes his head to clear it. "No, not at all." Soon, his typical charm returns, and he places his hands on the back of the chair, leaning over to whisper in her ear. "No, I think you're…" He pauses, searching for the right word, but can't seem to find it and kisses her neck instead. She gasps and grips the seat of the chair so tightly her knuckles start turning white. For a moment, her eyes glaze over and she starts melting beneath him, but she suddenly nimbly leaps up and away from him, wearing a teasing grin worthy of a fox, strolling back into the preparation area of the kitchen with an almost aggravating air of triumph. He naturally shakes it off and follows.
Her eyes follow him everywhere he goes, and she's still smiling as she reaches up and opens one of the top cabinets for dishes. He comes up behind her and wraps his arms around her waist, resting his head on her shoulder. Her eyes glow with amusement and she tips her head back. There's an unmistakable air of peace, with her dark hair falling over his back and their eyes closing in pleasure, and she hums lightly. It's really the calm moments, she thinks to herself, taking her away from the world. She can take in his scent and hide away in the darkness, caresses and skin and the purity of the moment. Including simple times like this. Or so she thought. Unbeknownst to her and unable to control himself, he trails his hands up a bit higher, lingering over her breasts. She squirms and jumps away from his grasp, but laughs despite her intent to do otherwise.
"Would you stop? You know I don't do morning sex."
"Not even for me?" he purrs, strolling closer.
"No, especially not today."
That stops him in his tracks. "What?"
"I'm going out with Emily today," she replies casually, making her way over to the table and bending down to pick up the spoon. "She's getting married, and I'm in her bridal party."
Something about the way she stares at him when she says the word 'married' makes a shiver crawl up his spine. "Oh, alright." He tries to shake it off and ignore it by searching a cabinet for cereal.
She sets her bowl back down on the table and watches him. "Is that a problem?"
"No, no." He waves his hand dismissively, his head still buried in the cupboard.
She takes the bowl and sets it on the counter, then delicately starts closing the cabinet door. He retracts his head from the inside, looking at her curiously as she shuts it all the way. Once he meets her eyes, he finds himself wishing the cupboard was still open so he wouldn't have to face her expression. It isn't easy to stand against her pleading eyes, and he really hopes she doesn't want to talk about what he thinks she does, because damn it, he can't do this right now. The possibility creeps alarmingly close when she suddenly grabs his hand.
"Are you alright?"
"Yeah."
"I thought I told you about the appointment."
"You probably did."
"And you probably forgot?"
"Probably."
She laughs, and the tension breaks enough for him to smile back. "What am I going to do with you?" He freezes, and the possibility comes rushing back. She notices him tense, and cocks her head a little, confused. But she doesn't want to ask what's wrong, not a second time. It'll only make him retreat further back into himself.
"… So when are you leaving?"
She glances at the clock. "Hm, in about an hour. Why?"
"No reason."
A terrible thought worms its way into her mind. It's ridiculous, absurd, and positively ludicrous, but it's taking over her mind, and bubbling closer to the surface until it waits on the other side of her lips, waiting for her to spit it out. She doesn't want to ask it. But her emotions get the best of her, and she barely even registers that she's saying anything at all.
"… Are you bringing someone back?"
His eyes widen. Out of all the things that she could've said, she chose to say that? His mouth starts working of its own accord and starts spouting gibberish, until his brain is able to catch up. "What? No! Why would you even ask that?"
She desperately wants to apologize but can't seem to do it. Her mind is running at a million miles a minute, falling all over itself while desperately reaching out for answers. She can't help what she says, even if she's barely aware she's saying it. "Well how am I supposed to know that?"
"What do you mean 'how are you supposed to know'? Don't you trust me?!"
Yes. "I don't know!"
His alarm begins to morph into anger. "What?!"
"Emily is getting married. And I'm here with you, and we've been doing-" Her sentence ends abruptly as she glances over the apartment lightning-fast, making odd gestures with her hands. "Whatever the hell this is for over a year now, and-"
"What, are you not happy?" He's trying to keep calm, but can't stop his voice from rising.
"I'm not happy seeing all my friends getting engaged and married and they ask me about you and I never know what to say because damn it, what ARE we?! You'll never tell me because you say that you 'don't like labels' but what am I even supposed to call you? You like to play the cool guy, like you don't care what people think of us, but I do! I care when my friends keep asking me if you've asked me to be your girlfriend or marry you or whatever and sometimes I get sick of telling them that no, you haven't, and I don't know if you ever will. And the way that they look at me, oh god, you should just see the way they look at me sometimes when I say that, it's just-"
"Then maybe you should get better friends!"
"Or maybe you could just tell me what we are so people have something to GO off of!"
"I thought you didn't care what people thought!"
"Well I do! And honestly, I've started wondering the same thing!"
"What?"
"Do you even want me in your life?! I mean you never even asked me to be your girlfriend or anything and I never see you making a move now to do it, or anything more for that matter. Do you know what it's like to constantly feel inadequate, and suspect that you're bringing home some other girl since you're obviously advertent to me?!"
"Maybe your self-esteem shouldn't have to be my problem!" he shouts back, not intending to be as venomous as he is.
"I can't believe you!"
"Why is it suddenly my problem? You're the one who apparently doesn't trust me unless I label her as something that belongs to me!"
"A relationship is a partnership, and why is it so damn hard for you to just call me your girlfriend?!"
"Because you aren't my girlfriend!"
Silence as heavy as a stone suddenly drops after he says that. Her mouth falls open in shock despite herself. She knows he wouldn't label their relationship like that, but to hear him say it aloud is crushing. It feels like the world has suddenly come crashing down on her; her heart pounds painfully in her chest, each beat making her head throb. This is too much for her, not knowing where she stands, wobbling and falling painfully on her face whenever she tries to pick herself up from the ground. She knows the world is still spinning. But it feels like she's fallen off.
She bites her lip to keep it steady. "… I see how it is."
"T-That doesn't mean I-"
Tears in her eyes, she brushes past him, ignoring what he has to say. She moves into his bedroom, tossing her things into her bag as quickly as she can. He arrives in the doorway in time to watch her slip into the bathroom and close the door almost all the way. He sighs regretfully, sitting heavily on his bed, and cradles his head in his hands. He hears her gathering her belongings inside and looks up.
"Wait," he calls, his voice heavy. The activity in the bathroom doesn't falter by a second.
He gets up, crosses to the door, and pushes it open so he can see her inside. She's just finished removing her things from near the sink and shoves her way past him with a stinging glare before dropping them in her bag. She continues in this way, searching for every single thing she owns scattered in the apartment, with him following and attempting to speak to her, only to be ignored. It's a pitiful way to be, but he can't bring himself to ignore her back. By the time she finishes, he's stopped trying to address her at all and stands by, watching her. She picks up her bag from the floor and goes to the main door of the apartment. He suddenly realizes she's actually looking at him, as if waiting for him to come to the door. He goes to her, watching, lingering while she takes a deep breath.
"After you get dressed, take me to see Emily," she says. After a moment, she adds, "Please."
He says nothing, but nods and heads into his room.
Outside the bridal salon, they stop walking. Neither of them have made a move to apologize, due to massive uncertainty and the fact that they can't really think of much to say to one another. She sets her bag down near the door as they stand beneath the overhang, the bright sunlight almost in cruel irony. They've never felt more like strangers.
"I… Can you do me a favor?"
His gaze snaps from the pigeon he was watching to her immediately. It's incredibly surprising that she's chosen to speak to him at all. He finds her eyes, vulnerable and warm. He can't recall how long it's been since he's seen her this way.
"You said you can hypnotize anyone, right?"
He nods slowly. "Yes."
"Can you hypnotize me?"
"What, now?"
"Yes, now."
"… Why, exactly?"
Her eyes begin to sparkle with unshed tears. "Because I can't take the uncertainty anymore. But I can't live without you. So the way I see it, the only option is-"
"For me to hypnotize you? What would that do?"
"I've seen how you make people forget. I'm sorry, but… I need to forget you, and I need to forget us."
The sheer realization of it nearly knocks the wind from his lungs. He didn't realize she'd ask for something so drastic.
"I can't live without you, but I can't live this way either, when I have no idea what I am to you or you never tell me you love me. I can't say it enough for the both of us," she continues, trying to force the words past the lump in her throat. "I'm sorry. Please, just do this for me."
He can scarcely believe what he's hearing. It feels like he's miles above the ground, and that this is happening to someone else. Anyone but him. "O-okay."
He raises a hand to begin the hypnotism when she stops him. Secretly, perhaps even unknown to himself, he hopes she's changed her mind.
"When Emily gets here, put my bag in her car, and tell her what happened. Tell her to tell me I ended up having to spend the night at her house, and she's taking me home. Okay?"
"Yeah."
They both fall silent as he begins to ready her mind. Hypnotisms typically didn't take long for him, but he wants to ensure the right things get tucked away and that she doesn't forget anything important, like her family or where she lives. He remembers that time she got lost on the way home from a friend's and he had to help her. She'd called him, teary eyed and frightened out of her mind, and it turned out she'd only lived a mile or two away. He almost chuckles at the thought, but snaps back to reality to see her tear-filled eyes staring at him, and the urge quickly dies. Something somewhere deep within him withers as the gravity of the situation descends upon him. He's hurt her, but he can't fix it. Well, almost. He tries to convince himself he's doing her a good. And in a way, he is. But he secretly suspects it doesn't exactly count if he's the one who wounded her to begin with.
She gets on her toes and touches her forehead to his. "Thank you," she murmurs, stray tears now falling from her eyes when she blinks.
He remembers how much he hates seeing her cry. "It's nothing."
She lowers herself back onto flat feet and he leans down so their foreheads remain touching. "You've always been so kind to me," she says, trying to smile and failing when a light sob wracks her body. "I'm sorry."
Has it always hurt so much to watch her cry? "Don't be."
"Don't feel bad."
"It's fine." Liar.
"You know, before I forget…"
"Hm?"
She leans forward and kisses him. God, he wishes she hadn't done that. Her lips are still soft and responsive and he can feel her desperation behind it despite her not using teeth or tongue. She is sweet and yet it's like bile rising in his throat, and it makes him feel sick with guilt. He kisses her back with whatever he has, because there is no way he can make this up to her, and even if it'll take more work to clear the memories, he doesn't care, because he wants to stop her from hurting, even if it's not the most efficient. There is no biting or ferocity or playfulness. There's just sorrow and unspoken "I'll miss you"s, and an overwhelming bitterness that turns any sweetness sour. When they break apart, he can see the trails of tears cascading down her face.
"I'll miss you," she says.
He bites his lip, unable to find his words.
"I love you."
"I know."
And just like that, with a snap of his fingers, she's gone.