Based in Everywhere at the End of Time and Everywhere at The End of Funk.
"He was diagnosed with dementia," that's what he'd been told.
Pico tries to make Boyfriend remember him.
Pico and Boyfriend's past relationship is suggested.
One-shot completed. Spanish version on my profile/Versión en Español en mi perfil.
Cover credits to distorted-vive on Tumblr.
。。。
This passed that Wednesday.
The brunette girl suggested, "Maybe you should try too…" Her eyes reflected a certain hope.
However, her misaligned and exhausted look caused Pico to question many things.
"Gurl, why so serious? This is–"
"He already forgot me!" tears filled Girlfriend's eyes. "Boyfriend probably forgot you too."
"Maybe he wanted to break up with you. Y'know? Like, he's not smart as I, and then he invented all this show." Pico teased. Though internally he was so nervous that he tried to hold his finger off the trigger.
"He wouldn't do that!"
"Maybe he's done with you ma'am."
"Shut up! He would never–" Girlfriend's voice broke.
The girl knew how crude Pico could become, an unmasked man. However, she wasn't crying over Pico's words, her distress was in how he would come to face reality.
"Sweetie…"
Girlfriend ran to her Mom's arms, finding the comfort she needed.
Pico had never seen Girlfriend like this before.
It just wasn't her. She looked like a kid; fragile, easily broken.
Ignoring the fact that she's a half demon.
She was clearly devastated.
Being surrounded by those emotions that he himself repressed was bothering him.
Surpassing, rather.
"I've just come back and y'all saying weird things about my bro!"
He just came from work. Involving himself to do that shit of getting his hands dirty meant to move around constantly.
Returning to the people that he considered his home for quite some time. It had to be homely...Not like this.
"You think mental diseases are a joke for us?" Mom said. "We're not such bad persons, after all. Yes...we're demons, but–"
"We've been trying to make him remember us," Daddy explained, "but dementia has no cure."
Dad and Mom have tried to find solutions, all for the happiness of their daughter.
And it's not like they hate Boyfriend, actually they accepted him. They think he's a good boy for Girlfriend.
"Sometimes we find Boyfriend singing alone, seems like he's still enjoying his passion," Dad continued, "having a singing rap battle with an old mate isn't a bad idea, right?"
"You both have known each other for years, try to talk with him. Before it's too late." Girlfriend insisted.
At least, that's what he'd been told.
Dementia? They have to be kidding.
Why would he trust demons?
The reality is that he had no idea.
。。。
And today is Friday funkin.
Hmm, what am I doing here?
"Hey Boyfriend, how ya' been?"
"...Hi?" he's not sure what to say, the orange-haired man is a stranger to him.
"You don't look hot as always. I'm out for two weeks and you don't sleep anymore, you really missed me, huh?" he casually surrounds his friend's shoulder with his arm.
"I don't know...who are you?" The cyan-haired step aside, tries to stay alert to the actions of the other one.
"Really funny man. I'm Pico, we're friends."
Pico knows there's something wrong with his friend, he knows because of the withdrawn way of Boyfriend reacting to him.
Friends?
"Why are you carrying a gun?"
Why would "a friend" walk around the city with a gun in hand like nothing?
"You, seriously…" Pico watches him in bewilderment.
He looks into his lost eyes, his eye bags, his blue and messy hair, even his posture looks unseemly.
Pico makes a grimace.
Boyfriend feels out of place for a bit. He is absorbed and loses track of what he is doing and where he is.
"Take it."
"Beep, what was this…?"
"What do you mean with 'what was this'? It's your microphone, you take it everywhere," he empathizes 'everywhere.'
"...I do?" he looks at the silver object in his hand, trying to remember what it's name was.
It was a long and complicated word, mic–
And he ends up forgetting while trying to remember.
Pico looks at him silently, still trying to figure out if this is all a joke.
The train passes, the loud sound of the machine along with dead leaves floating into thin air makes Boyfriend come to his senses.
"Ah!" he looks around in confusion. "Why are we here?"
"We have rap battles in this spot, what do ya' mean o' you man?"
"I barely know you... Sorry, can you repeat, what was your name?"
"U kidding? Pico's the name by the way."
Watching the shortest like this isn't funny to Pico, but he tries to handle it in a positive way.
"...I think I know you, I guess…"
"Quit kidding around."
Pico closes his eyes. He wants to refuse.
"Be patient with me…"
Boyfriend knows that the orange-haired man must be upset, he may even be angry…thanks to him. But he doesn't feel uncomfortable at all with the strange man.
He is supposed to be someone close to him. Well, that's what he says.
And even if he can't remember him, the tallest one has a lot of patience.
Pico sighs.
"Then say it."
"...Say what?"
Pico persisted, "Let's back to the basic. Ma' name...Who am I?"
"..."
"Dude, this can't be so serious," he began to get frustrated. "Okay, chill, what about a singing rap battle?"
"...Okay."
This apparently 'bad guy'...
"I'm gonna go slow for ya', ok?" he hopes with that, Boyfriend should remember the song.
Pico plays his song, biting his lip in sign of nervousness.
Ready?
Set?
Oh!
"C'mon bro, you know this one," he cheers his friend. "Go Pico! Yeah, yeah, go Pico!"
Boyfriend smiles awkwardly.
"Who's Pico?... Who's Pico?" he starts singing it incorrectly, but softly out aloud.
He's trying so hard to remember.
This song.
Actually he almost does, but he stills on the verge of forgetting.
"You used to be an annoying ass singing 'Go Pico' all the time and now you…"
Pico feels sad at remembering but he doesn't want to blame Boyfriend, even if he wouldn't remember it later...
With that thought in mind, Pico begins to understand the situation.
This shitty situation.
Pico is trying to make it easy, he's internally begging that the blue-haired would remember him or the song.
Song that they both produced.
Boyfriend only makes out some pieces, imitating Pico to try and remember. He sings halfway unto the song over and over, again.
Who is this guy?
"Pico."
"Yeah, that's me!"
This whole situation feels familiar in some way.
Boyfriend tries to say his friend's name again, but it gets cut off over by static. His memory is fading again.
Just a burning memory.
The music is played at the end. And in Boyfriend's mind is followed by loud static.
That shitty static noise, like a broken TV.
He already forgets entirely.
"U did not do so badly...though," Pico lies, but immediately regrets, "actually you can't remember one single verse, huh?"
He watches his friend, his afflicted look says everything. Boyfriend is struggling to remember.
"So, it's really all gone?"
Boyfriend looks at him, trying to figure out the meaning of the question.
He's completely clueless.
"Your name was…Pe–, Pi–?" he answers what he thinks is right.
Pico, you silly. Shut up asshole.
"Sorry...What were we talking about?"
"..."
Finally the situation had overcome him, there were things he still couldn't understand.
But the simple fact that Boyfriend forgot his name weighs so heavily on his heart.
"Are you going to tell me you forgot our memories!? Everything we live together!?" he wants to scream until he has no voice.
"..."
"Who am I, who was I for you!? Tell me!" he presses his right hand against his beige pants.
He contained anger, rage, rancor, frustration
Not against him, not against the person who made him happy for a long time, not against the person who was happiness itself.
"Sorry." Boyfriend doesn't fear him, even if he just screamed in his face, even if the strange man is angry because of him.
In his senses and even in his fuzzy thoughts, he can come to feel it…
What was this feeling called?
Pico falls on the ground, hurting his knees; still holding his gun in a shaken hand.
Boyfriend doesn't know what to do, his heart just started pounding painfully against his chest. It's harder–even harder than before–to concentrate.
Ah, yes: it is called sadness.
Certain buried memories begin to emerge and reproduce fleetingly in Pico's mind.
"Hey." Pico faces the boy standing in front of him, he's surprised he's not gone yet.
So radiant, so kind and such a good person. A boy full of talent and goals. The opposite of him. How could he go, even with dementia?
"You may not remember, nor will you remember, but you saved me many times."
The blue-haired nods slowly. Not in understanding, of course. Pico knows it too.
Why did Boyfriend—specifically–him have to suffer this?
Why Boyfriend and not him?
"Boyfriend," forces himself to smile at him, "I really loved you...I still love you."
Pico always wondered how someone like Boyfriend could have noticed him, better yet, how did Boyfriend never gave up with him? He saved him from himself, made him happy, made him feel wanted, loved.
He let him know he's valid.
Such good times, probably the best and purest moments were with his ex.
What's good is that only you remember their memories?
A burning memory.
Pico was afraid to extinguish his flame. He knew he would have no salvation or a better way and was never totally honest about it with his then boyfriend.
He was hoping someday to apologize, to apologize to Boyfriend for having abandoned him, for hurted him. And also, he hoped to thank him for everything.
But now Pico just wants to retaliate, to attack another army until he runs out of bullets, perhaps.
Retaliate against Daddy Dearest himself if possible.
"...Pardon, I'm sorry and thank you."
Boyfriend cries without knowing why. He usually cries because the confusion of not knowing where he stands consumes him. But this time at least, he perceives that he's crying for a different reason.
There's no memories, nor flashbacks. Not even static. But the emotions of the guy crying in front of him are so strong that he feels the pain of the other's as belonging to him.
He feels strongly connected to Pico.
The orange-haired sweats cold, his thoughts are harder to sort than usual. And that voice, that damn voice that suddenly begins to echo and overshadow any other thought...
If you had shot him at that moment, you could have stopped this.
Shut up.
It would have been the last time you'd seen him…
…
But he wouldn't suffer as he does now.
Stop! Goddamn it, leave me alone!
Why didn't you spare him this suffering!?
It's not my fault, it's not!
Pico holds and shakes his head forcefully, he just wants to stop listening. Stop listening to how his own conscience or whatever it is recriminates his pathetic decisions.
His jaw hurts due much clenching his teeth.
Then he wonders when this hellish crisis will end.
"Beep boop."
And without warning, he feels a warmth surrounding him, seizing him. He feels an itch in his nose; Boyfriend's cyan hair.
Was he so vulnerable that he withdrew his guard and released his gun?
Pico corresponds to the hug, clings to the shirt of the other and sinks his chin in the blue sea. The scent of shampoo and the natural scent of Boyfriend inundate his smell. He smiles calmly and sobs a bit.
Then and now, Boyfriend is the only one who can calm his crisis.
Boyfriend was hugging him vehemently. He just acted as he thought was right.
He knows something and that is that it breaks him to see the orange-haired man like that, he doesn't know why he suffers, but he feels led to comfort him.
In his thoughts there's no noise, fuzzy memories nor static.
Surprisingly, there's calm.
His mind is a blank space.
Mayhaps it's the effect that Pico has on him.
He takes a look at the devastated man in his arms.
He can't recognize him, but laughs a bit; the strange's hair is pretty curious to him.
His carroty hair.
Pico conversely can't handle this anymore, he could hug his beloved like, forever? But he knows Boyfriend can't even remember his name.
The air begins to blow coldly against their uncovered faces.
Is in this moment when they both realize that the night has completely dyed the sky.
Pico stands up and picks up Boyfriend, but leaves his gun on the floor.
The train passes in front of their noses, probably the last trip of the day. Pico doesn't even bother to ask Boyfriend if he remembers the times when they were riding on top of the wagons.
The expression of the blue-haired guy shows no sign of having those memories anymore. He just watches intently the train passing.
Pico takes his hand, expecting the slightest rejection, but contrary to what he thought, he receives in reply a handshake and a face of uncertainty.
Pico sighs heavily, hoping that the pain in his heart will go with his sighs.
Am I not being a dramatic asshole? Shit.
He hugs him again, but not in a possessive way, it is as if he wanted to protect his fragile self.
Maybe I am.
Maybe this is their last hug.
As a farewell.
But this time he promises not to cry.
He rubs his back and removes his cap so that his chin can rest comfy on the cyan hair.
Boyfriend doesn't object and hides his nose in each other's collarbone.
Two hearts beating in unison.
"Beep."
"At least you're still beeping."
Pico wonders if he will be able to remember his soft voice until the day he himself can no longer anymore.
He doesn't think he can handle it from now on.
Boyfriend finally hugs back, because he likes the warmth that the other one gives him. He feels cold in his bare arms and more so because of the aggressive breeze that leaves the train behind him.
Such a familiar warmth.
Pico rubs his nose over the other's hair. He is mentally tortured with the idea that Boyfriend could save him, but he is unable to do the same for him.
He would kill anyone who hurt him. Make them pay.
But there is no one to blame.
Or is there someone?
The long train ends its journey in that spot.
At the same time, the familiarity Boyfriend feels with Pico fades.
Memories traveling on that train, perhaps.
Pico notices the family figures of Girlfriend and her parents, presumably coming to pick up Boyfriend. After all, they took the blue-haired guy as he didn't remember the way.
He sighs for the thousandth time and gently departs from him, a tremor in his hands is noticeable to the cyan-haired. Fondly, he gives him a broken smile and puts his cap back on his head.
Have I carried that in my head all this time?
The auburn approaches both boys with some doubt in the face, but eventually approaches the one in the cap.
"Hello honey," she greets gently.
However, Boyfriend in response tilts his face in confusion. Girlfriend's expression is distressed, but she forces a smile.
"...How were things, Pico?"
He doesn't answer, he just avoids the look. His frowning gave her the answer anyway.
"So it got worse?" she asks quietly.
"Before I left I had noticed something strange in him...but I paid no attention."
From forgetting rap events, to Boyfriend saying things like: "I hear fuzzy." So it wasn't a joke after all.
"Don't blame yourself," she replies, "none of this is our fault."
Mom approaches Boyfriend, offering him a sweater and Pico clenches her teeth. He wishes he could hug him a little more.
The atmosphere was so different from other times, when they was just competing with each other. Now they were embraced by a sad and melancholic vibe.
Hopeless.
Girlfriend and Pico are distressed by that feeling. Boyfriend just feels disoriented, but warm somehow.
Even if he is surrounded by strangers.
"You shoul–"
"I have work to do in another city," Pico excuses himself, "a client is waiting for me."
There's no client by the way.
"We'll take him to a clinic," Mom reports, "you can visit him whenever you can."
Pico picks up his gun burdensome, his intention is to leave fast.
"Um, Pico, you know you also have us, me." Girlfriend wants him to know.
"Yeah, I know." That's all he manages to say.
They have each other, but he would not be able to support her, his own self-destruction would end up destroying others.
It's what he had learned over time.
Not to drag others into his own problems.
"Let's go to the car, Boy."
"Wait a moment…"
Maybe this it's the last time we'll meet...
Then...
In a few seconds he was once again in front of him, his nose and cheeks stuffed in pink because of the cold is something adorable in him, but Pico knows he'd better leave soon or he'll have a cold as well.
"Why are you carrying a gun?"
That was the second time he had wondered, in an innocent way.
The others showed an expression of horror. But the orange-haired doesn't even know what to feel at this point.
Pico pats his head and gives him a smile, "Take care, Boyfriend."
I'll remember [you],
for the two of us.
。。。
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Just a burning...
Smell of medicines, the sounds of machines and a woodland essence spreads in the air.
Hospital scent.
Hospital noises.
Although in his case, he was in a clinic room. In his bed, ready to go to sleep.
"Weren't...we fighting over something?" he asks out loud, stretching his hand to the ceiling. As if trying to reach his memories.
Surprisingly, he remembers his reencounter with Pico...or parts of that encounter, when they had a rap battle in exchange for…
In exchange of what…?
He frowns.
These fuzzy memories mess with my temper.
He leans his glance in confusion and changes position in his bed. When he focuses his gaze, he notices that within his reach, there is a piece of furniture with photographs of him? with other people.
He stretches his arm and takes a photo that in his eyes, is striking for its green color.
He squints his eyes and looks at the photo for a few seconds.
A casual photograph of Pico with Boyfriend.
"Huh, is that me?" he doubts his own identity.
"And is he...? Why does he carry a gun?"
What a curious hair, anyway.
"We used to know each other, I guess." he supposes, that's what the photograph suggests. "I hope to see him again."
The truth is that Boyfriend doesn't know his name, his voice, or who he is.
His mind is surprisingly quiet, so it's not difficult for him to fall asleep. He curls up in bed, still holding the photo in his hands.
And in a few minutes, Boyfriend falls soundly asleep.
.
.
.
Rot-rotting.
.
.
.
Vanished.
.
.
.
Just a burning...
memory.
Dementia is my nightmare, my constant fear. And this is my way to end this vicious circle. I just want to stop worrying about it all the time.
Please ladys and gentlemen, be careful; eat healthy, drink so much water, do exercise! Not just physically but mentally too.
I invite you all to inform about what dementia is—not in the obsessive way I always do.
With that, I want to be clear that I don't take any mental illness as a joke.
This is actually most like a personal vent.
Also, english is my second language. Any correction will be appreciated.