Day 14: "Where Did You Go?"

Whumptober 2024 Prompt: Amnesia / Forgetting the Familiar

_

Komori Motoya stirred awake to the low hum of beeping machines. His eyes fluttered open, the sterile white walls of the hospital room slowly coming into focus. The sharp scent of antiseptic filled the air, and the harsh fluorescent lights above made him squint. His head pounded, a dull, persistent ache that clouded his thoughts.

The last thing he remembered was... well, that was the problem. He didn't remember.

Blinking, he tried to piece together anything—a face, a name, a place—but his mind was frustratingly blank. His hand twitched, instinctively moving to his head, where he felt a bandage wrapped tightly around his forehead.

"Hey," a soft voice came from the side of the room, breaking through the fog in his brain. "You're awake."

Komori turned his head toward the sound, his gaze landing on a tall figure standing at the edge of his bed. The man looked familiar, his brown eyes filled with something between relief and sadness. But try as he might, Komori couldn't place him.

"Who... who are you?" Komori's voice came out raspy, barely above a whisper.

The man visibly flinched, his expression crumpling for a split second before he regained his composure. "It's me," he said gently. "Akagi."

Akagi. The name felt like it should mean something. There was a tug at the back of Komori's mind, a faint recognition, but nothing solid enough to grasp. He shook his head slightly, the movement making him wince.

"I... I don't remember."

Akagi's face softened, though his eyes betrayed the hurt. He stepped closer, sitting down on the chair beside the bed. For a moment, there was silence, just the steady beep of the heart monitor and the soft sound of Komori's breathing.

"You were in an accident," Akagi explained quietly. "A car crash. The doctors said you hit your head pretty hard. That's why you... don't remember."

Komori nodded slowly, trying to take it all in, but the weight of his confusion pressed down on him. He didn't know this man sitting by his side, and yet, the sadness in Akagi's eyes made his chest ache. He didn't understand why.

Akagi hesitated for a moment, as if unsure whether to continue. Finally, he spoke again, his voice softer this time. "We're... together. You and me. We've been dating for almost two years now."

Komori blinked, the revelation hitting him like a punch to the gut. He stared at Akagi, searching his face for any shred of familiarity, but came up empty. Two years? They were dating?

"I'm sorry," Komori whispered, his voice cracking. "I don't—"

"Don't apologize," Akagi interrupted gently, his hand reaching out to cover Komori's. "It's not your fault. I just... I wanted you to know."

Komori's eyes dropped to where their hands touched. The warmth of Akagi's skin against his own felt grounding, though it did little to ease the storm of emotions swirling inside him. How could he not remember something so important? How could he not remember Akagi?

"I wish I could remember you," Komori admitted softly, his fingers instinctively curling around Akagi's hand. "I want to. I just... I don't know how."

Akagi gave him a small, sad smile. "It's okay. We'll figure it out together."

For the next few days, Akagi stayed by his side, gently filling in the gaps in Komori's memory. He told him about their first date, how they met through volleyball, the countless late-night conversations they had, and how Komori would always sneak Akagi his favorite snacks during practice.

But no matter how much Akagi told him, Komori still felt like he was listening to someone else's story—like these memories belonged to a different version of himself, one he couldn't access. The frustration built up inside him, and despite Akagi's patience, Komori couldn't help but feel like he was letting him down.

One afternoon, as the sunlight filtered through the blinds, casting soft golden rays across the room, Komori finally voiced the fear that had been gnawing at him.

"What if I never remember?" he asked quietly, his gaze fixed on the window. "What if... I'm not the same person you fell in love with?"

Akagi, who had been sitting quietly by his side, looked at him with a gentle intensity. "You're still you, Motoya," he said softly. "Whether you remember or not, you're still the same person I fell for."

Komori's eyes stung with the weight of those words, but he couldn't bring himself to believe them. How could Akagi be so sure? He felt like a stranger in his own skin, like pieces of himself were missing, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't find them.

"I just... I don't want to hurt you," Komori whispered, his voice breaking.

Akagi moved closer, his hand reaching out to cup Komori's cheek, his thumb brushing away the tear that had slipped down. "You won't," he promised, his voice steady. "We'll take it one day at a time. I'm not going anywhere."

For the first time since waking up, Komori let himself lean into the touch, closing his eyes as he felt the warmth of Akagi's hand against his skin. He didn't remember their history, didn't remember the moments they'd shared, but there was something about Akagi's presence that soothed him.

"I'll wait," Akagi whispered, his lips pressing a soft kiss to Komori's forehead. "As long as it takes."

_

Weeks passed, and though Komori's memories didn't return all at once, small fragments began to resurface. They were blurry at first—faint glimpses of moments that felt like déjà vu—but they were there. And with each passing day, Komori found himself growing more comfortable around Akagi.

There were still moments of frustration, times when Komori felt like a stranger in his own life, but Akagi was always there, steady and patient. They laughed together, shared meals, and even watched some of the shows Komori used to love—though he still didn't remember watching them before.

One evening, as they sat on the couch in Komori's apartment, Akagi turned to him with a soft smile.

"Do you remember this?" he asked, holding up a photo. It was a picture of the two of them, taken at the beach, arms around each other, smiling wide.

Komori stared at it for a moment, a small frown tugging at his lips. He shook his head slowly. "No," he admitted, though the sadness in his voice had dulled over time.

Akagi didn't seem disappointed. Instead, he leaned in, his head resting on Komori's shoulder. "That's okay," he said quietly. "I remember it for both of us."

Komori smiled, feeling a small flicker of warmth bloom in his chest. Maybe he didn't remember everything yet, but sitting there with Akagi, the weight of his fear seemed lighter.

Maybe, things would be okay after all.