Philip's breath caught in his throat upon seeing the girl he used to be the best of friends with when they were little. He hadn't seen her in, what, eleven years? It felt longer, like a lifetime, or something unending, like nightmares. He wondered if she still had those. The junior felt his palms go sweaty and he feared he would lose grip of his sword. They stood staring at each other and he wanted to say something, like hello, how are you, do you still like dancing, do you remember that time we were on the porch swing of my house and you told me you believe in miracles? He hadn't then, but now he sure as hell did, since he didn't think he would ever see her again, not after she was taken from her parents and he wasn't told where she went, or why. Not until later.

Maybe this was a dream. Hadn't he thought of her constantly in his sleep for years? Philip pinched his pale and blinked, but she didn't disappear. She was stood before him, just as pretty and nervous as she was a second ago. He smiled at this knowledge.

"Excuse meh, but who are ya and what are ya doin' interruptin' our practice?" Merida inquired, her brash Scottish accent breaking the silence. Philip had honestly almost forgotten his friend was there.

The brunette glanced at the red-head from the corner of his eye. She certainly knew how to interrupt a pinnacle moment for him.

"This is Aurora, an old friend," he explained calmly. He hadn't uttered that name in years. It felt so strange rolling off his tongue. It weighed it down, making a lump form in his throat.

Aurora stiffened at the mention of her name. Why? "I don't go by that name. I haven't in years. I'm Briar Rose now," she explained as she brushed aside a golden wave.

Philip quirked an eyebrow. "Why?" he asked bluntly. He inherited his own form of brashness from his father.

"It's a long story," she commented.

"I've got time. I don't have a fourth period class."

She looked ready to decline, but he jumped in before she could. "We have a lot to catch up on Aurora. It's been too long," he smiled, hoping to convince her to accept the invitation.

Aurora picked at her blouse sleeve for a moment then gave a reluctant nod. "Alright."

Philip grinned and handed Merida his sword. "Tell Taran his lesson is cancelled for today," he requested.

Merida frowned, her deep set blue eyes glaring at him. "He won't be pleased, or ready for the coming tournament for that matter," she quipped.

Philip just chuckled. "If he's so insistent, tell him he can come to my house for a quick lesson." Merida reluctantly nodded then went on her way. The student extended his hand to Aurora. "Shall we?"

The young woman nodded but did not take his hand. He was perturbed by this but let it go. They hadn't spoken in eleven years; he couldn't expect them to go back to hugs and hand holding so soon.

They walked side by side off school grounds to a nearby park. The wind had died down thankfully, because both didn't have their jackets with them. A pale pink polo shirt didn't keep the chill out, but he was too elated to care.

"So how have you been since we last saw each other?" Philip asked as they settled on a wooden bench.

She shrugged. "I've been doing alright I suppose." Aur—Briar Rose looked at him from the corner of her eye as she crossed her ankles. "Please don't take this the wrong way but—I barely remember you. I feel like I know you, or knew you long ago, but I don't have many memories of us."

Philip's light brown eyes widened. "You . . . don't remember me?"

"N-No I do! I just . . . not from our childhood. From my dream," she tried to explain and repair the damage she unwillingly caused.

He shifted to his side and stared across at her. "Your dream?"

She sighed and her foot bobbed up and down. "It's another long story."

"How about we start with the first long one and work our way from there?" he suggested with a bit of a smirk. She hesitantly smiled at him and her shoulders slumped as she relaxed a little.

"Well, my parents they uh, they have a bit of a . . . problem with alcohol and . . . prescription drugs. When I was five, my mother's sisters adopted me as their own and took me to live with them across town until they cleaned up. While there, they noticed that I didn't really respond to my name. I don't know why, maybe I just wasn't used to be called by it, I can't really remember. Anyhow, my aunts started calling me Briar Rose and it's what I have answered to since then," she explained with a shrug.

Philip recalled her parents. His parents had been close with them, both sets drank a lot, but the difference was his quit when Philip was conceived. Aurora's did not, and it was a miracle the girl was not born with birth defects because of the heavy drinking. Her parents never seemed neglectful though, not so much that Aurora wouldn't recognize her own name. Then again, he was only a child at the time. He could, and likely did, miss a lot of signs. She was born eight months after him and had been a part of her life since that day. It stopped when she left and now she couldn't remember him at all. Why?

The young man nodded in understanding. "If we were friends like you said, why did I never see you at school and why didn't you come to my house?" Aurora asked. She didn't sound hurt or angry, just confused.

Philip scratched the back of his neck and sighed. "It was my dad's idea really. I didn't find out till later, but he arranged with your aunts for you to be removed from your parents' home. He didn't want my presence to stir up memories of trauma from your home. They agreed on a fresh start for you. I wasn't allowed to visit for fear of setting you back in your recovery." He reached over and placed a hand on her shoulder lightly. She jumped a little at the contact but didn't move. "I missed you though. Every day I went over to your house and waited for you to come out, but you didn't. Dad made me stop and enrolled me in a private school out of town during my elementary years. That's why you didn't see me at school."

Aurora slowly nodded, her mind comprehending this new information. "Tell me some of the things we used to do together. Maybe I'll remember if you do," she suggested as she turned on her side and curled her legs up underneath her.

He was more than happy to recount their adventures. Philip told her about the times spent at his grandfather's cottage an hour's away from town, how they woke up at dawn and would go to the beach to build sandcastles. He talked about the weekend sleepovers at his house, the trips to the park with his father every Friday, and trying to scoop ice cream but failing miserably.

"We used to come to this park," he pointed to the swings. "I pushed you so hard once, you flew clear out of the swing and skinned your knee. I had to carry you home." Philip moved his gaze to the slide. "We learned how to go down the slide together, and we made cities in that sandbox. You told me once you would live in a castle and," he chuckled, "and I remember asking you if I could too, and you said no, I had my own castle. But I could come over any time I wanted."

Philip saw his five year old self, so confident that he would have that castle with his best friend as a lifelong neighbor. He glanced at Aurora and saw her at five years old, ready to fight the dragons and throw the best parties with the best cakes anyone could ask for. He wished he had her back. He saw someone now who needed to be protected, whose mind was protecting it from her childhood traumas by blocking out the good things too. He was supposed to protect her from the monsters, but he never got a chance. Neither of them did.

Suddenly, Aurora's eyes widened and she gasped as tears came to her eyes. Philip moved closer and frowned. "Aurora, what's wrong? Are you okay?" He didn't like seeing her like this, just staring off into space with unexplained realization dawning on her face.

She looked to him and placed a hand over her heart. Was she having a heart attack? "I—Philip I remember you," she whispered as she tried to keep her voice from cracking. "I remember you and—and your father—you were like family to me," Aurora said in awe. "Your mother—I remember her too. She died . . . when we were two?" He nodded. "From . . . liver cancer?" Again, he nodded. She looked ready to cry again. "Oh Philip," she reached over and wrapped her arms around him, as if he was the one in need of comfort, of protection.

"You were my best friend," she sobbed against his shoulder. Philip drew her closer to him, positioning her on his lap, and held her tightly against him.

"I still am," he whispered as his hand ran up and down her back. He wasn't exactly sure what to do, but he knew he couldn't (wouldn't) let her go. Not after he finally found her again. When his father sent him away, he thought it was punishment. When Philip came back, everything had changed. He had to start anew, alone, just as Aurora had. He hadn't even known they went to the same high school! His father said it was for the best, for she was still healing, but what Hubert didn't realize was the healing would never stop. Aurora would always be uncovering old memories and having to deal with them. Things would upset and traumatize her and the only way she could handle them was dealing with them with someone she trusted. And she did trust Philip, he knew she still did. They needed each other and his father could not tell him otherwise.

After a few minutes when her tears were spent, she raised her blotchy face and looked away in embarrassment. "I'm sorry for that I—my therapist says that when my brain unlocks memories, it can bring about intense emotions, like sadness or relief or . . ." she trailed off, her voice growing quieter.

Philip smiled with a nod. To his disappointment, she slid off his lap and went back to sitting beside him. This time though, she stayed close by with her head on his shoulder. The youth adjusted himself and wrapped an arm around her shoulder, reassuring her he was there.

"Has this happened with other memories?" he inquired quietly.

Aurora nodded. "Only once when my therapist and I were working to figure out the cause for my irrational fear of blood."

Philip nodded. "What was the reason, if you don't mind me asking?"

She bit her lip and curled her legs up against her so she was nearly in a ball. "My mother was injecting and she hit an artery. She started bleeding profusely and it felt like I was swimming in the stuff when I found her passed out." She shut her eyes tight and her breathing became shallow. "I haven't been able to look at blood since without feeling like I'm going to faint. Most often I do."

Philip gave her shoulder a squeeze and pulled her closer against him. "I think I remember Dad telling me something about that. He took your mom to the hospital and you stayed overnight till she got back." She simply nodded, unwilling to give a reply.

"I guess I'd better not get nicked at my next fencing tournament. I wouldn't want you to faint in the stands," he tried to make a joke and for the most part it was successful. She caught a giggle and he smiled as he rested his chin on the crown of her head.

"I'm coming?"

"If you want," he shrugged, trying to act like it didn't matter if she came when it mattered more than anything to him. "If you're not busy, you know."

Aurora nodded. "I'll check my schedule. Maybe you'll be lucky."

Philip already felt he was lucky just for having found her after all this time. He figured they should get back soon, but as his gaze drifted to the swings, he had a much better idea. The junior pulled back slightly and took her hand as he stood.

"Where are you taking me Philip?" He didn't reply. Instead, he walked her to the swings and ushered her into one.

"If I'm correct, you haven't been on one in a long time. At least, not one pushed by me. We need to rectify that," he stated simply.

Aurora opened her mouth to argue, likely adding something about how she was dressed for a day at the park, but he wouldn't hear of it. Philip got behind her and started pushing. It didn't take long before she started laughing and he remembered hearing that same one in his dreams.

"So you should tell me your dream about me!" he suggested he continued pushing her.

"Ha! Not a chance," she chuckled, kicking her feet out in front of her which caused her to lose both her shoes.

"That's unfair! You're being cruel!" he whined.

"I'm allowed to be! I have years to make up for," she looked back at him and winked, nearly giving him a heart attack.

"You'll tell me one day," he stated, leaving no room for argument.

"If you say so," she giggled. "Now push me higher!"

All too soon, they heard the chiming of the school bell. Looking at his watch, he realized they would be late for their last class if they didn't get moving. Aurora hunted down her shoes and slipped them on as they started walking back.

"You should come over sometime. The place has changed a lot since you last saw it," he suggested as they walked side by side.

Aurora nodded. "I should. And you should come over and see my house. I have a tire swing in the backyard, and you'd love Auntie Fauna's cooking."

"This weekend?"

The girl frowned and shook her head. "Unfortunately, I'm going to my parents' house this weekend. I started going every second weekend at the start of the year. My therapist thought it would be beneficial to form a relationship with them since they've been clean for over a year. I don't want to, but I can't tell them no."

Philip shook his head. "No, you can tell them. You have every right to say when you're feeling uncomfortable and don't want to do something. You have to set boundaries," he insisted. "I don't want you to get hurt any more than you already have by them." He reached out his hand and held onto hers tightly.

Aurora looked up at him and nodded. "I know you're right, and I promise I'll tell them or my aunts if I feel uncomfortable. But I want to get better, and if talking with them helps, I want to try." She squeezed his hand and grinned. "I'm a big girl Phil, you can trust me to take care of myself."

'I know, but I want to make sure the monsters don't get you. I have to make up for all the times I failed you. I don't want to fail you again. You mean too much for me to lose again.'

He nodded silently and let her lead them back to school.

'Dad sure is going to be surprised when I tell him what happened over dinner.'