Neil woke up in the hospital staring at the ceiling like he’d never seen one before. His hands trembled against the sheets, eyes wide and unfocused, as if he was waiting for someone to explain the rules of the world to him. The doctors said words Andrew already hated—memory loss, trauma, temporary—and Neil clung to them like they were lifelines instead of chains. He didn’t recognize anyone. Not his team. Not Nicky’s too-bright grin. Not even Andrew.

Andrew hated the look in his eyes most of all: fear. Neil wasn’t supposed to be afraid of him. Neil was supposed to meet his stares with fire, to test every limit, to refuse to run from him when everyone else did. Instead, he looked at Andrew like a stranger who’d been left too close to his bed.

The Foxes tried too hard, pushing memories at Neil like he could be forced back into himself. Andrew stayed silent, arms crossed, letting Neil breathe. He didn’t need to crowd him. He didn’t need to prove anything. Still, it twisted something inside him to watch Neil shrink back, lost and unsure, when Andrew knew every sharp edge and stubborn line that should’ve been there.

Back at the dorms, Neil was a ghost in his own life. He didn’t remember Exy. Didn’t remember the team. And he definitely didn’t remember the space across from Andrew’s bed that had always been his. But Andrew watched him the way he always had—quietly, relentlessly. Because memory or no memory, Neil was still his. And Andrew would wait, however long it took, for Neil to find himself again.