A Memory

There was nothing.

Just darkness. And cold—sharp, needling cold that crept in like a bad draft. Selena would’ve shivered if she had a body. That was the first clue something wasn’t quite right.

Still, one thing confirmed she probably wasn’t dead: her head throbbed like hell.

It wasn’t the dull kind of ache either. No, this one stabbed, twisted, pulsed. If she were alive, she'd be whining dramatically and demanding painkillers from someone by now. So naturally, she tried to reach for it, instinctively lifting her hand to press against her skull.

Except—she didn’t have hands. Or arms. Or, apparently, even a head to clutch that her non-existent brows furrowed.

“Oh. Of course. Must be a nightmare,” she muttered. Strangely, her voice echoed as though it floated somewhere outside her—not from her mouth, but from a memory of what speaking felt like. And that’s when she really started to panic.

Was this purgatory? Limbo? Some celestial waiting room for people who died confused?

Or worse... an afterlife with no coffee?

Her thoughts were spinning when suddenly—she heard footsteps. It was rapid and urgent. Someone was running. And oddly enough, she felt herself turn in that direction. Not her head, exactly, but her sense of being tilted—like a camera panning.

Then she saw a child. A little girl, maybe six or seven, sprinting straight toward her.

Selena braced herself—only for the child to pass through her like mist. She gasped.

What the hell was that?

She spun—if floating disembodied souls can spin—and saw the little girl flinging herself into the arms of a woman. The woman immediately knelt, wrapping her arms around the child with the practiced grace of a mother soothing her daughter’s sobs. Her voice, though soft, rang out with a warmth Selena hadn’t heard in a long, long time.

The moment clicked into place.

Selena's breath caught—not that she was breathing. That was her. The little girl was her. And the woman... was her mother.

The lighting around them had shifted without warning, soft golden sunlight creeping in from the edges, lifting the shadows from the scene like curtains parting. This wasn’t a dream.

This was a memory. That day. The one burned into her forever—the day her mother died in a car accident.

It played out exactly as she remembered. As soon as her mother stood up from comforting her, a car came barreling toward them, tires screeching, metal groaning. The brakes must have failed. There hadn’t even been time to scream.

Instinctively—like always—her mother shoved her out of the way.

Selena flinched, her whole being shivering as if her current self could still feel the bruising pain from that shove, from hitting the pavement, from the way her world cracked open.

She shut her eyes tight just before the car struck. She couldn’t watch again. Not when she heard the smaller version of herself crying—sharp, broken cries that twisted her up in ways she wasn’t ready for.

But then... something changed. She turned slowly, cautiously, to check on her younger self—and her eyes widened.

A man was kneeling beside the little girl, gently patting her head.

She blinked. The girl... she was covered in cuts and scrapes, bruised from the fall. But that man… that man wasn’t part of the memory.

Not before. Wasn't he? Although he looked familiar.

Selena floated closer, squinting.

The man's tousled black hair fell in messy strands, covering most of his face. He wore a traditional Chinese hanfu—out of place for the modern memory—but something in the way he moved, the quiet way he hovered, tugged at something deep in her chest.

“Where have I seen him?” she whispered to herself, her non-existent brows knitting together.

She couldn’t see his eyes, but the presence he gave off was oddly grounding. Protective. Like gravity, pulling at a memory just out of reach.

Then the younger Selena began to shift, trying to look toward the wreckage where people were already gathering, where sirens had started to wail in the distance.

But the man calmly held her head, keeping her from turning. He didn’t speak—just rested one hand over her battered skin.

And just like that... the bruises vanished. The cuts faded. He was healing her. Not metaphorically, he was actually healing her.

Selena blinked in confusion until something snapped at the back of her non-existent skull.

AHHH!! her mind shrieked. I remember now.

He was there. After all this time, after all the gaps in her memory—he wasn’t just some dream or a misplaced kindness. He existed. He was the man who had stayed when her father hadn’t even come home that night. Not even after learning his wife had died.

Everyone else vanished. But he… he kept her.

She didn’t have any relatives, no place to go, and while the adults shuffled their feet and talked in hushed tones about child services and paperwork, he simply took her hand and brought her home.

He said he'd watch over her until a proper foster home could be found.

But that never happened.

She lived with him longer than intended—years, perhaps—but the edges were smudged. Blurred. Why couldn't she remember more? His silhouette was etched into her bones, and yet his face remained hidden behind a fog she couldn’t lift.

She remembered the way his voice wrapped around her name like a lullaby—Selene, he’d call her. Never Selena. Just Selene. Like she was someone worth guarding.

And then something shifted.

Her ghost self trembled, flickered—and in a matter of a blink, she already found herself being her younger self. No longer floating. No longer just watching buy now there beside him. That same man.

She turned to him—not out of will, but memory—and her mouth moved on its own.

“I have to go now, Selene…”

His voice was the same. Deep yet warm. His now longer hair brushed across his face which he immediately tucked behind his ear.

“But why?” she heard herself ask, her heart cracking just hearing her own childlike voice again.

“Because I've already fulfilled my duty.”

That was all he said. No explanation. No promises. Just that. Then he stood. His form began walking toward the light, as if that had always been the plan.

Selena panicked. No!

Her feet moved before she could think—she ran after him. She wasn’t just a memory anymore—she was her. Whole and incredibly desperate.

“Wait—please!” she cried out, reaching toward the light, toward him, toward the one person who stayed with her.

Her fingers barely grazed his hand when everything shifted and she gasped when a violent shudder tore through her lungs, feeling herself falling into nothingness.

That’s when her eyes flew open—reality blinding her—and the cold, sterile scent of a hospital crashed into her senses. Machines beeped wildly around her. Her heart thundered against her ribs, lungs convulsing with air.

She was drenched in sweat, chest heaving like she’d run a marathon inside her own brain. Panicked, she looked around—white walls, IV drip, monitor screens.

“W-What happened?” she croaked, disoriented.

“You collapsed, you retard.”

WHAT—

Her soul nearly left her body again. She gasped and visibly cringed when a deep, disgruntled voice rang out beside her. Neck snapping to the side, she was shook to see Theo brooding Gogh.

He looked… like he hadn’t slept. Or maybe that was just his face. He looks paler than his usual pale self though and it bothers her.

However, what bothers her more is something else and the moment she looked down, she realized what.

Her. Clutching. His. Hand.

Selena let out the most unholy squeak and threw his hand away like it was a cursed talisman. Theo’s entire arm flopped to the side with a dramatic slap.

He grimaced. Not in pain—more like the emotional equivalent of someone stepping on a Lego.

“...Charming... truly...” he muttered, flexing his fingers like they’d been contaminated.