Author's Note: This should be longer. But I decided against it. It should be a series, but in a set of connected one-shots. Probably.
Musical Inspiration: The Wanted - Glad You Came (DSharp Violin Mix).
prologue
He felt awkward, standing there ― with the world, supposedly, right in front of him.
He watched her again, hands stilled and something in his stomach twisted painfully. Don't pressure yourself, Oliver, they said. Amnesia. Nasty little thing. Surely everyone would understand. Well, he didn't. Not at all.
Because he's looking at her again, and he couldn't remember. His index finger and thumb found the silver band which enveloped his fourth finger ― tugging on it to make sure, probably for the millionth times, that it's real and it's there, and it's not disappearing anytime soon ― and he watched her move gracefully, as if she's been doing this routine, of taking care of him, for the rest of her life, and it's completely normal, and she's so beautiful and she must be special somehow but he just - he couldn't remember.
He remembered Laurel ― and remembered the ache he carried with her picture tucked in his back pocket as he survived another day at the island. He remembered Tommy ― and his satisfying claps against his back whenever someone pushed them down, or kicked them out of a club. He remembered Thea ― a lot has changed, but he had been right, there wasn't a day went by without her in his mind. He remembered his mother ― strong and loving and firm.
And at long last, he remembered his father ― good, but tortured.
But he can't, for the life of him, remembered her. Her who had long golden curls fell behind her back like waterfall, her who stood by his bedside even if he can't pin-point who she was. Her, who he only remembered as the IT girl that helped him a couple of times before but nothing more. Her, who patiently waited until he could finally say 'hi' to her even though it was obvious to the both of them how wary he was. Her, who apparently knew about his life more than anyone else. Her, who wore the same wedding band around her finger ― his wife.
"It's okay," she had told him when he apologised to her because he couldn't remember anything, tucking her hand behind his neck as they corrected his posture at the hospital. "We'll get through this together."
And now he's following her lead as she was discussing with his mother further about what to do with him, a young child tucked by her hip, his blue eyes staring back at him. Oliver pulled up a picture that, he assumed, was taken with a polaroid and traced his thumb over it ― they told him it was with him when the accident occurred, and he was clutching it with a death grip ― and his skin ghosted over the figure of him, beaming at the camera - all genuine and happy.
He thought that sort of... dream was no longer possible. Being actually happy.
It must have been New Year's because he could detect the banner behind him, on the far corner. Besides him was a grinning her ― her hair was even curlier then ― and in between them was the boy. He looked happy. Cheeks rosy and he seemed to be cheering along to whatever it was that they were cheering at. He tilted his chin up at the same boy who's staring back at him, on the moment, and felt a weight dragging his heart down as he observed the frown that etched on the young boy's face.
He swallowed.
Oh God, he closed his eyes as a throbbing pain struck the back of his skull. He can't even remember his own family.